


The Other Man

by toggledog



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, reference to canon molestation, reference to canon rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:56:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 90,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3886621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toggledog/pseuds/toggledog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reid tells himself that he's fine with the current "friends with benefits" situation he has with Morgan.... absolutely fine... Also, Hotch seems to be  suddenly paying him a lot of attention. But that means nothing, right? It's not as though Hotch, of all people, could be interested in him....</p><p>Warning for reference to past Hotch/Foyett non-con (non graphic), references past Morgan molestation</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Usually I love Morgan/Reid but decided to give Hotch some play :)

He wasn’t even sure how the first terrific bout of frantic sex happened. They had been profiling, as usual, a bewilderingly brutal crime. At the end of the day, having only found the perp after he had tortured and killed five women, the team retired to the pub.

  
Spencer had allowed himself to drink more than he usually did. Derek had been particularly incensed by the crime. They’d ended up alone, in Reid’s motel room. Frantic kissing turned to frantic groping.

  
“Reid," Morgan had said. “I don’t want you to be under any misapprehension. I’m attracted to you, but I can’t be in a relationship right now.”

  
At the time, Spencer told himself that he didn’t care. Here was a chance to go all the way with A number 1 stud Derek Morgan. There was not a chance of him turning this down.

  
“This is simply acting out a biological imperative, that’s all,” he said.

  
Derek had actually laughed, and then favoured him with a look that sent a charge to his groin.

  
“Damn, I’ve wanted you for so long.”

  
“Really?” The fact of Morgan’s bisexuality had been the first shock, that night. This was now the second.

  
Derek’s smile was the kind that caused old ladies to titter. “Kid, you’re prettier than most women.”

  
It had been years since his only previous same sex encounter. He had been so nervous, he broke the condom on the first go. The sex was as he expected from Derek Morgan. A little rough, frantic and extremely hot. He had to wear a scarf for the next few days at work, to hide the love bites on his neck and shoulders.

  
After it was finished, both lay, panting, sated, exhausted.

  
“So…we’re still friends, right?”

  
“Hey, it’s fine, Morgan. This was just… fun… that’s all.”

  
And so he convinced himself.

  
The next day at work, Derek treated him as he always did, playfully teasing him, offering brotherly advice or concern. Spencer tried hard not to read anything into it.

  
###

  
About three weeks later, after a particularly horrific case, he was watching a Star Trek dvd when there was a knock at his door. Later, he would reflect that Derek didn’t even bother to call to check that he was home on a Friday night. But then, where else would he be, really?

  
As they fell back onto the bed, Derek’s talented tongue against his ear, his eager hands stroking every part of is body, he told himself that this was nothing. Just a way of releasing sexual tension.

  
He told himself not to be disappointed, when Derek left straight after.

  
It wasn’t like they were in a relationship.

  
###

  
Again, at work on Monday, Derek acted the same as always. As Derek put a hand on his shoulder, when leaning over him in his chair, he deliberately froze his muscles, to cease from leaning back in towards him.

  
###

  
The next sexual encounter was only a week later. Spencer wasn’t particularly fond of driving. The fast traffic zooming past tended to increase his anxiety. Most days, he was happy to leave his car at home and take public transport to and from work. Derek offered to drive him home.

  
And then had followed him into his apartment.

  
After a few weeks of  (he convinced himself it wasn’t) deliberately leaving the car at home, Derek again drove him home.  
This time, Derek cleared his kitchen table and took him right over the top. He counted that as his most gratifying orgasm to date.

  
###

  
So, it came to be, two weeks later, the group celebrated the capture of a pedophile, by having a few rounds at the pub. Within a few minutes, two women ensconced Derek. Spencer told himself he wasn’t upset. Derek allowed the women to buy him a few drinks. Spencer told himself that was fine. Derek danced with the women. Clenching his fists under the table, Spencer told himself that it Derek was free to do whatever he wished.

  
As the night wore on, it became clear that the women simply weren’t going to leave. JJ and Garcia left the pub. Morgan flirted more with the women. Rossi and Hotch were firmly rooted in the far corner, whispering to each other. Spencer sat at the bar, watching Derek and feeling miserable. More than a few times, he felt Rossi and Hotch’s eyes on him.

  
Damn it, he felt pathetic. What the hell was he thinking?

  
He decided he’d had enough. He grabbed his bag and walked out, not even bothering to say goodbye to the other three.

  
For a genius you’re a moron! He told himself. Did he really expect that Derek Morgan, of all people, would cease from flirting with other people just because he was banging one Dr. Reid? He felt his face heat with humiliation, anger spike his stomach.

  
But then he told himself that he wasn’t being fair. Derek had told him, from the beginning, that he didn’t want a relationship. Spencer was the one that kept allowing the sexual relations to continue, like some pathetic love-lorn puppy following it’s master.

  
He shivered as an icy wind rippled through him, looking up and down the empty street. No sign of a taxi any time soon.

  
“Need a lift?”

  
He flinched, startled.

  
Hotch stood beside him, a slight smile playing about his usually stern features.

  
“Ah… sure…”

  
“Come on, my car’s just around he corner.”

  
Hotch was still wearing his suit and tie, a thick black coat completing the ensemble.

  
‘You don’t drive much, do you?” Hotch asked, as he took out his inhibitor and pointed it at his sedan, unlocking the central locking.

  
“Do you know the percentage of accidents-?”

  
“Practice, Reid. You’ll build up confidence, be a regular road rager like the rest of us in no time.” He said it so straight faced that it took Reid a moment to realize he’d just made a joke.

  
Reid climbed into the passenger side and closed the door, clicking on his belt. The anger spiking his stomach had dulled somewhat, in Hotch’s presence. Something to dwell upon later, while at home.

  
Hotch fired the engine and turned on the heater. Reid closed his eyes, enjoying the warm air soothing his frigid flesh.

  
“You ok?” Hotch asked.

  
“Fine, why?” He answered a little too quickly.

  
_Damn it!_

  
Hotch’s penetrating gaze seemed to burn straight through him. Reid refused to make eye contact. Being alone with his superior made him anxious enough as it was…

  
_He’s straight._

  
It wasn’t as though he hadn’t told himself that over and over, when he first joined the BAU. But then, he’d thought the same of Morgan…

  
_Morgan’s barely even bi… he just likes pretty things. Prettier than most girls._

  
The thought cut straight through him, a serrated knife digging straight into his gut. He forced himself not to wince. Thankfully, Hotch concentrated on the road, pulling the car out of the pub car park.

  
“How’s Jack?” He asked, instantly regretting the question. Since Hailey’s death, talking about Hotch’s family had been deemed a no go zone by the group.

  
“He’s good. Won a spelling bee in class. They want him to go onto the state champions.” Spencer was rewarded with a rare smile that made his heart beat a little faster.

  
_Remember… straight Reid!_

  
“I’m glad to hear.”

  
“He’s going to be a genius, just like you.”

  
“I’m sure.” Spencer grinned.

  
“How’s your mum?”

  
Spencer suddenly realized that, though the group spent most of their time with each other, they knew next to nothing of their current private lives.  
Not once, in all of the time he’d been with Derek, of late, had he asked him about his family. He’d been otherwise occupied, but still… he resolved to ask Derek the very next morning.

  
The conversation flowed surprisingly smoothly until Hotch pulled up in front of Spencer’s apartment block.

  
He turned off the ignition and looked at Spencer. That’s when he felt it, an odd sense of expectation, electrifying between them. It was as though the older man was staring straight through him, straight to the very essence of his yearning.

  
_I need to get out of this damned car._

  
“Thanks for the lift.” He fumbled with the belt.

  
“Any time, Spencer.”

  
_Spencer._

  
He inwardly shivered.

  
It means nothing, he told himself.

  
“Thanks again.” He rushed out of the vehicle so fast; he almost slid on the sidewalk.

  
###

  
The next day, he resolved himself.

  
Derek stood by the coffee machine, pouring himself a cup.

  
“Pretty boy!” he smiled.

  
_Not much sleep last night, huh, Morgan?_

  
He ignored the pain twisting his stomach at the thought.

  
“How’s your mum, Morgan?”

  
The other man raised a brow. “Fine. Yeah she’s really well. Spoke to her a few nights ago.”

  
“That’s good to-“

  
“Reid!” Hotch was walking towards him. Pressed suit. Not a hair out of place. “Have you requalified for your weapon, this year?”

  
Reid looked to Morgan, who shrugged, grinning. “I’m not due for a couple of weeks-“

  
“Let’s go practice now, while we have the chance, before we’re called in for a briefing.”

  
“But I’m sure I’ll be-“

  
“It’s always beneficial to get more practice in.” He turned and stalked off, obviously intending for Reid to follow.

  
Morgan laughed. “Looks like he’s not taking no for an answer.”

  
###

  
“Remember the follow through,” Hotch said. Was it Reid’s imagination, or was his superior standing rather close to him? Then there the, in his mind, unnecessary touches to his hand to ‘adjust his aim’.

  
It really wasn’t helping him. His heart was hammering. He was sweating slightly. His pupils were dilated. He was concentrating too much on willing himself not to get an erection and not enough on his aim.

  
He’d only hit the target once. In the shoulder.

  
“I’m sorry, Hotch. This isn’t…”

  
“Is everything alright?”

  
Old spice aftershave. The marketing campaign had drawn in younger men. Not that Spencer suspected Hotch paid attention to that kind of thing.

  
Spencer realigned his aim once more.

  
“I was just remembering what Gideon once told me. Guns shouldn’t be a substitute for a good profile.”

  
“I agree.” Hotch said. “But they certainly help, with taking down some unsubs.”

  
Was that a joke? Hard to tell. Hotch’s face was impassive, as usual.

  
“Hardly fair though.”

  
“In what sense?”

 

“Most of the unsubs we come across don’t use guns. Most use knives, as you know, to cover impotency.”

  
Something changed in Hotch’s face. He was suddenly very pale, accentuating the darkness of his eyes.

  
“Not all,” Hotch said, quietly.

  
“Hotch, are you-?”

  
Suddenly, his superior was briskly walking out of the room. Reid stared after him.

  
_No, no what did I say? Damn it, is it the Reaper, is that it? Idiot, Reid!_

  
He turned back to the target and hit it straight in the heart.

  
###

  
Morgan pulled up in front of Reid’s apartment.

  
“Well, pretty boy-“

  
“Come inside,” he demanded.

  
“Are you sure?”

  
Reid didn’t care for his neediness. He didn’t want to be alone that night.

  
He leant across and touched his lips to Morgan’s, snaking his tongue inside, tasting coffee and the lentil burger his lover had for lunch.

  
“Stay over,” he said, breathlessly, once they released. Derek didn’t answer but his dilated pupils and exerted breath told him all he needed to know.

  
###

  
The alarm interrupted a dream in which he was flying over the desert of Las Vegas. Reid grumbled and switched it to snooze, hoping to garner at least a few more minutes of rest. Last night had been the first time he’d ever fallen asleep with another person in his bed. Not that they’d had much rest. After a mammoth session of sex, leaving Spencer and (from round two presumably Morgan too) rather sated but also a little sore, Derek had rolled over and fallen asleep.

  
Spencer had laid awake in the dark, not sure what to expect. Morgan was an action man and not one for deep and meaningfuls about the varying aspects of their relationship. Not that it was a relationship. No. It was simply ‘friends with benefits’. Neither wanted more… did they? It wasn’t as though Derek treated him any differently… apart from that one aspect that was…that aspect that Spencer had to say he couldn’t really complain about. After all, he’d gone from a man with no sex life whatsoever with a quite fulfilling one with an incredibly sensual man he was also fortunate enough to call a friend.

  
He opened his eyes and put his hand on the empty pillow beside him.

  
He only wished that he could wake up to Derek’s smile in the morning.

  
   
Tbc…


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who are reading and reviewing/kudoing.  
> Enjoy!

As he stepped into the office, he lowered his head and curled into himself, hoping to be invisible, for at least the first ten minutes of the day, while he poured himself a very large hot beverage. Due to his attention on the coffee stained carpet, it took him a few seconds to notice the red streamers that had been taped around his desk. Blue and white balloons framed his computer, on the monitor of which someone had placed a large sign reading ‘Happy Birthday!’

“Happy birthday, Spence.”

He turned to JJ’s warm smile.

“Technically, my birthday isn’t until tomorrow.”

“Babygirl and JJ helped decorate.” Morgan placed one well muscled leg on his desk.

“Oh one more thing….” JJ disappeared for a moment from view.

Morgan leant across and whispered in Reid’s ear.

“I can give you your present later on.”

Reid felt the promise straight to his groin. He instantly sat down at his desk, placing his bag on his lap.

In that instance, JJ came back with a plate in her hands. Garcia had absconded her claustrophobic booth to accompany her.

“What’s this, you gorgeous thing?” Morgan teased, as JJ put the plate down on Spencer’s desk and Garcia started unwrapping the plastic to reveal a very rich looking chocolate cake.

“Just a little something sweet I made… almost as sweet as your fine ass.” Garcia responded, then whacked his hand as he reached across to take a slice. “Naughty! The birthday boy should have first pick!”

“Everybody conference room in five minutes.” Hotch’s voice sounded across the room, from the front of his office.

“Well, so much for that. Not even one slice!” Morgan lamented.

###

Twelve hours later, the exhausted team was finally traipsing back into the BAU. It had been a local case, involving a rapist. A middle-aged man had been picked up for the crime, leading the profilers to insist that the police had the wrong person. They reinforced the profile; that they were looking for a man in his early twenties. Finally, the police were able to pick up the man the team was convinced was the rapist. He was twenty-two years old and fit the profile precisely, even down the gas-guzzling car he drove.

Morgan lazily stretched, shirt riding up to show a hint of his taught stomach. “I’m thinking of knocking back a couple down at McGinnis, who wants to join?”

Instantly, JJ and Garcia refrained, both citing wanting to go back to their significant others, though Garcia suggested a more exotic reason than JJ.

“What about you, birthday boy?”

Spencer considered it a moment. Earlier that day, Morgan had promised him his ‘present’ which he inferred meant some good hot sex, that night. Silly boy, Spencer scolded himself. Morgan hadn’t stated 'that night', he’d simply said ‘later’.

“No, I’m fine…”

“Come on pretty boy-“ Morgan put a hand on his arm.

“I said I’m fine!” Spencer roughly pushed his hand away.

“Ok, ok!” He put his arms up in a show of surrender. “I just figured… seeing as it’s your birthday…”

“I’m tired and I just want to go home.” He looked at the handsome face, searching for any sign of Morgan changing his mind and wanting to go home with him.

_Come on Morgan. I want my present!_

“I’ll go,” Rossi spoke behind them.

“Ah! We have a winner!” Morgan turned from Reid. Rossi’s face lit up. For a moment, Reid felt his stomach spike with jealousy.

_You’re being absurd! You're now jealous of Rossi?_

“Everything ok, pretty boy?” Morgan’s voice was calm, concerned.

“I’m fine.” Reid fiddled with the straps of his bag. “I’m just tired.”

“Ok, well maybe next time. Did you bring your car today? I could drop you off on the way.”

“I can drop him off.” Spencer hadn’t even recognized Hotch’s bearing, straight behind him.

“Sure?”

“It’s no trouble. If it’s ok with you, Reid?”

“It’s fine.”

Reid followed Hotch, well aware of both Rossi and Morgan’s eyes on him.

###

Hotch didn’t speak until they were on the main freeway, giving Spencer’s mind plenty of time to come up with all manner of conjecture as to what Morgan would get up to, that night.

Who he’d end the night with.

“You hungry?”

“Huh?”

“I managed to have an apple five hours ago. I doubt anyone else had the chance even to do that. I do know a very nice Chinese place not far from here.”

It took a few moments for Spencer to realize that Hotch was inviting him out to dinner.

“Ah sure…”

_It doesn’t mean anything._

Hotch’s face lit up in a genuine smile.

Straight, Reid reminded himself. Straight.

###

The restaurant turned out to be a very modest affair. Wooden tables were covered with the barest of utensils. The seats were likewise wooden. Reid expected Hotch’s taste to be a little more elitist. As soon as he came in, the waiter seemed to recognize him. He offered them the ‘best seat in the house’, opposite the lobster tank. Reid couldn’t help but stare at the poor gormless creatures, quite blissfully unaware that their time was short.

The waiter finished explaining the specials, then left. For the first time, Spencer became very aware of where he was. Having dinner. Alone. With his superior. He felt his cheeks flush and put up the menu to cover his face.

“The Peking duck is quite good.” Hotch said.

“Oh… I might try it then.”

“I think we’ll forgo the lobster….Seeing them in the tank… I feel a little sorry for the poor things.”

Spencer put his menu down. “I was just thinking the same thing. But then, if it wasn’t us then someone else will eat them.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. But still…” Hotch’s dark eyes darted to the tank to his left. “No, I’ll pass.”

“I’ll go for the Peking duck then.”

Both were silent a long moment. “I used to go here with Hailey. Hasn’t changed much.”

Spencer wasn’t sure how to reply to Hotch speaking about his now dead ex-wife, so decided it best not to respond. The waiter arrived at that point to take their orders. Hotch picked up the wine list.

“Do you like red?”

“Ah… I don’t really…”

“It does go well with the Peking duck.”

“Ah sure….”

“Two glasses of the merlot, thanks.”

The waiter nodded and left.

“No, I don’t drink on a ‘school night’ but one glass with dinner is usually quite nice. I’m only saying this because of the look you gave me when I picked up the wine list.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything.”

“Really?” Hotch’s eyes seemed to penetrate straight through him. But there was something else too… if Spencer wasn’t mistaken, there was a distinct mischievousness floating around the edges of his usual stern look.

“Really.”

“It was a tough case today.” The amusement disappeared from Hotch’s expression. Both talked BAU until the food arrived.

###

The car rolled up to the edge of the sidewalk, by the side of Spencer’s apartment block. He felt rather giddy and relaxed. It had been one of the best evenings he’d had in a while. They had gone from talk about work, to talk about other, more varied topics; politics (Reid was astonished to discover that Hotch voted Democrat… “Though they’re both essentially the same party.”) movies (“I don’t know who’s more excited when a new Pixar film comes out… Jack or me”) gardening (“It’s really quite simple to create compost. You could just make a small amount on your balcony, grow some herbs there.”) even Hotch’s years as a lawyer. Reid found himself evolving from being reticent to speak, to talking effusively, between mouthfuls of rather tasty food.

Hotch had also admitted, upon leaving the restaurant that it had been a ‘birthday present’ for Reid.

“Thank you for tonight.”

“My pleasure.” Hotch smiled.

There it was, back again. The odd current between them. Spencer found himself drawn to Hotch’s lips, the long curve of his dark eyelashes.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Sure. I’ll… see you then.”

Hotch put a hand up, as though to touch him, and then drew it back.

“I had a great night.” He suddenly turned his head away. Spencer saw it as a sign to get out of the car.

“Ok goodbye.” He unlocked his belt and opened the car door grabbing his bag and scrambling out.

As he crossed the road, he heard a distinct honk of goodbye as Hotch departed.

###

“Ok, pretty boy.” Morgan put an arm around his shoulders, almost making him spill his coffee all over them both. “Ooh a little jumpy this morning, are we?”

He put his coffee mug down on the counter and opened the sugar jar.

“So… Hotch dropped you off, last night?”

“Yes.” _Eventually._

“So, what happened?”

Spencer finally looked into his face. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I haven’t exactly seen him like this before.”

Spencer felt his stomach muscles droop.

“Like what?”

“Like… smiling. A lot.”

_Smiling?_

Spencer felt his entire body suddenly uplift.

“He just dropped me off.” He wanted to keep the night between him and Hotch just between them.

“He didn’t mention anything to cause this sudden change in the glum attitude he’s been carrying for the past… for all of his life?”

‘He’s not glum.. he’s just stoic.”

“Mm… hmmm…”

Said man materialized behind them. “Conference room. Now.”

Reid saw nothing of the smiling man that Morgan had described.

###

Reid climbed into Hotch’s car, feeling tired and drained. He wanted to curl up on his couch with a good physics book and relax. It had been an easy case, in some ways. Gang warfare, in which the culprit was easily profiled. But Reid had heard the mutterings amongst some of the officers working the case .

_“..just junkies and gangbangers. Why should we care?”_

“Everything alright?” Hotch asked, once Reid had put his seatbelt on.

“Fine.” The eyes continued to stare at him, breaking him down. “I realize society denigrates certain members, as a result of their lifestyle…”

“Everyone deserves dignity and justice, no matter their lifestyle. We did a good job today.”

Reid nodded, looking out the window. Morgan had offered him a lift home but he had turned him down, instead deciding to go with Hotch.

_Feeling too flat to have hot sex. I must be losing it. Get ready, Mum. I’m coming!_

Both were silent, as Hotch pulled out of his marked parking bay.

“When I was a lawyer, I would see so many sad cases. From both sides. The amount of suffering… it’s too late if the person’s already dead.”

“By the time we’re called in people have already died.”

“True but we can prevent more deaths.”

Reid didn’t want to be having this conversation. He felt simply too exhausted to launch into a debate with Hotch. Both fell into a comfortable silence.

_What exactly is going on here? Why is he paying so much attention to me, of late?_

Reid thought of something Rossi said to him, earlier that day. They had been interviewing a prostitute who insisted on giving Reid a ‘freebie’. As they walked away, Reid’s cheeks burning, Rossi had said, “She was very obvious. Most people I find aren’t. Even if they’re interested, they usually play it too cool.”

Reid had found it to be an odd statement. For a horrified second, the thought Rossi was saying he was interested. But then, Rossi gave him an odd, knowing glance. No, Rossi was referring to something or someone else.

The car pulled up in front of Reid’s apartment.

“Well…” Hotch turned to look at him. There it was again. That tension.

_Could it be that Rossi was referring to…?_

Spencer’s heart started to hammer.

_He’s my superior. I’m sure he’s straight. This could go very badly. This really isn’t-_

With his heart feeling like it was about to burst out of his ribcage, Spencer unclipped his belt and leant forward, touching his lips softly with his superior’s.  Hotch didn’t pull away, nor relent. Spencer went to pull back, when he felt fingers stroke through his hair, a tongue enter his mouth. He leant further forward for more, dueling his tongue with Hotch’s. It was different to Morgan. Not as electric, not as hungry, simply slower, more tender. Both pulled apart, panting.

“Spencer… I want you to know that-“

_Here we go. ‘I can’t be in a relationship right now.’_

“I would not want to sacrifice our working relationship.”

Spencer felt his heart disappear into his stomach.

“I’m still your superior and I can’t appear to play favourites at work. I like to keep my work and home life separate. So, I would appreciate it if we kept professional at work.”

To Spencer, it sounded a bit like a prepared speech.

“I understand if you don’t want to be in a relationship. I’m not looking for anything… other than casual as well so-“

“Oh…” Hotch’s cheeks visibly reddened. “I see…I…I’m sorry, perhaps I was misinterpreting…”

“Misinterpreting?”

“I’m sorry but I can’t do casual. If I were to commit to seeing someone, then it would have to be monogamous.”

“You’re saying you want to… be in a relationship… with me?”

Hotch smiled. “You truly are a genius.”

Spencer sat back, reeling a little. He could barely believe his good fortune. Certainly, he’d always been attracted to the dark-haired man before him. But he never thought… never even considered.

“If I’m forward, I’m sorry. That’s just the way it is for me. If you don’t wish to continue this, I won’t treat you any different once we’re back at work.”

Spencer’s mind went to Morgan. They had never promised exclusivity with each other.

Reid replied by leaning forward once more. This time the kiss was more heated.

“Come upstairs,” he said, once they released.

“Are you sure?”

Every part of Reid’s’ body said yes.

###

They stepped into Reid’s apartment. He expected to be thrown against the wall, his mouth ravaged, as when Morgan seduced him. Instead, Hotch looked around the small loungeroom, seemingly with interest. He walked over to the overflowing bookcase perpendicular to the LCD TV, perusing the titles.

“Ah… do you want a drink?” Reid asked, only because it was something he heard people asked people who came over their house or apartment. “I’ve got some wine.”

“Sure.”

Reid disappeared into the kitchen, opened the cupboard and took the dusty bottle out, that had been sitting there for months, a Christmas present from JJ. He took two glasses out of the cupboard over the sink and opened the screw cap, pouring a liberal amount into each glass.

“Quite an impressive book collection you have there,” Hotch mused, suddenly appearing behind him.

“Thank you,” he handed a glass over.

Hotch took a sip, looking about the kitchen. “I’ve always been intrigued by what your apartment would look like.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Does it live up to expectations?”

“Well yes… and no. But in a good way. No star wars figurines anywhere.” Hotch smiled.

“Is that good or bad?” He asked genuinely,  earning a chuckle.

Reid took another sip of wine, trying to work through the conflicting emotions spreading through his body. Shouldn’t they be snogging each other crazy by now? Why was he having a conversation about Star Wars figurines?

Taking the initiative, he put his glass down and stepped forward, gently moving Hotch’s glass  so it, too, sat down on the bench, as he leant in to his lips once more. He could feel Hotch’s arms around him, hands in his hair. His own hands started tugging at the buttons on Hotch’s shirt, reaching the flesh underneath. A part of his mind was reeling at finally being able to touch, to taste. He felt a hard ridge and was suddenly reminded of the Reaper. Of course, Hotch had been scarred. Reid didn’t care. He sank to his knees, lifting the shirt  so he could kiss along the ridge of the scar, to show that it increased the beauty of his superior, if anything.

“Wait wait what are you doing?” Hotch asked, suddenly taking a step back.

“It’s ok… it’s ok…” Reid reached out and drew a finger along the puckered scar where the knife had gone in.

“No stop!” Hotch pulled his shirt down and scuttled back some more. His face was suddenly drained of blood. For a moment he looked very young. Reid could see the boy that he had been.

Both silently stared at each other a long moment.

“I’m sorry… I… I have to go I’m sorry.”

“What?” Reid stood up.

But Hotch was walking out of the kitchen.

_Ok what just happened?_

“Hotch? I don’t understand.” Reid followed him.

Hotch stopped at the door. He turned back to look at Reid, expression unreadable. “I’m really sorry.”

Before Reid could reply, he opened the door and stepped out, leaving the younger man alone in his apartment.  
 

Tbc…


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially, this was going to be the last chapter. But there is a lot more to work through, with the characters so I've decided to continue. Enjoy!

For a long moment, Spencer simply stared at the oak paneling of the closed front door, his immense brain still attempting to decipher what just happened. To his humiliation, thanks to the abruptly halted session with his superior, he was still agonizingly erect.

His mind went to Morgan. For all of his flaws, he was certainly more than an adequate lover. What’s more, Derek had never once abruptly left in the middle. If anything, he was excessively giving and attentive.

Also, Derek Morgan had always been one hundred percent straight with him. He’d told Spencer from the beginning that he couldn’t be in a relationship. He’d never treated him any different, apart from when he was giving him mind-blowing sex.

Unlike one Aaron Hotchner, who didn’t seem to know what the hell he wanted.

Spencer stormed over to where he’d thrown his bag, upon entry, and searched for his mobile phone.

Spencer was aware that, in some ways, he was naïve.

But he wasn’t that damned naïve.

If Hotch wanted him to be his experiment in the ways of man on man love, then he had the wrong person.

He felt the familiar plastic edge of the cover and pulled it out, pressing Derek’s number.

_He probably won’t answ-_

“Pretty boy! Changed your mind?” Derek was shouting. He could hear chatter in the background.

“You staying much longer?”

“If you’re coming I can stick around.”

Spencer felt his spirits picked up by that thought.

“Don’t lie, you’re surrounded right now by five women… and a couple of men too.”

Derek chuckled. “When it comes to men, there's only you, pretty boy. Haven’t you noticed?”

“So you’re saying I look like a girl?”

“Not at all. I’m saying you look like a pretty _boy_. And I’m not the only one whose noticed…Tell me, Reid how many times in the past few weeks has Hotch insisted on dropping you home?”

Reid felt his stomach muscles tighten. “Wanna buy me a birthday drink?”

“Sure! Come on down. I can give you something more than that… after.”

“I can be there in about twenty minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Spencer pressed ‘end’ and rushed into his bedroom, looking at himself in the mirror above his chest of drawers. Should he change clothes? Not that it really made much difference. He ran a quick comb through his hair and opened the top drawer to grab a scarf, twisting it around his neck.

Good enough.

Back in the lounge room, he picked up his bag, mobile and keys and rushed to the front door, opening it-

To Hotch, standing on the other side, fist raised as though to knock.

“Wooah!” Spencer felt his heart race. He took a step back.

“Can we talk?” Hotch put his fist down.

“I was about to go out.”

“I can see.” A slight smile touched the corner of his lips. Spencer felt indignation rise within him.

“Please, let me explain myself.”

“I think your behaviour has explained your thoughts quite clearly.”

“Please, Spencer.”

_Damn it!_

Spencer stepped further back and allowed his superior in. He closed the door behind them, as Spencer threw his bag to the floor and his mobile and keys on his coffee table.

“I don’t have much time.” He folded his arms.

Hotch frowned. “With tonight… I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted a relationship.”

_Yes, and I'm the Queen of England!_

“What you want is someone to experiment with, so you can decide whether or not you like men.”

“Spencer…” He shook his head. “You’re not the first man I’ve been attracted to. With Beth and I… the job wasn’t the only reason why we separated. I’ve suspected that I like men more than women for a while now.”

Spencer unfolded his arms. “Then what the hell happened tonight?”

Hotch loosened his tie a little. “Do you mind if I have more of that wine?”

Anger giving way to puzzlement, Spencer moved to the kitchen and picked up the two still half finished wine glasses, handing Hotch’s over to him. The dark-haired man took a sip. Spencer glanced at his mobile.

“Maybe tell Morgan you’re going to be late.”

Spencer didn’t even bother asking how Hotch knew who he was going to see.

“I’ll write a text.” He sighed, picking up his mobile and quickly locating Morgan’s number. He quickly typed out that he was running late and that if Morgan wanted to leave then to just let him know.

 _It’s not like he’ll be alone for long_.

Spencer threw his mobile back down and looked back up to his superior.

“Well?”

Hotch looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“I’m attracted to you, not just physically, though there’s no discounting that you are beautiful. I wanted to take things slowly but tonight… I wanted to as much as you. Perhaps even more so.”

Spencer reeled from just being called beautiful, by Aaron Hotchner of all people. He took a large gulp of his wine.

“This is…” kind of doing my head in.

Hotch stared at him a long time, seeming to see straight through him. He could sense the older man deciding something, in his own mind. “What do you know about what happened when the Reaper stabbed me?”

Spencer frowned. What does this have to do with us? “The Reaper had been hiding in your house. He fired at the wall behind you. You two fought and he overpowered and stabbed you, deliberately not hitting any vital organs. Then he delivered you to the hospital.”

Hotch nodded, took another sip of his wine. “I need to sit down.”

He moved to the couch and perched himself on the edge, putting his wine down on the coffee table before him. Spencer hesitated a moment, then moved to sit next to him, guessing correctly that the other man needed some space between them.

“That was in the official report. There was… something else…something the hospital kept confidential, at my request.”

Spencer felt a sick feeling rise in his stomach.

“The only other person who knows the truth is Dave Rossi.” Hotch looked at Spencer directly. “It’s true. He did overpower and stab me.”

“You told Prentiss, at the time, that you didn’t remember anything.”

Hotch closed his eyes. “I didn’t want to. But I remember everything.”

Spencer swallowed. He resisted the urge to take Hotch’s hand, to reassure him.

“He told me that profilers say that if a man stabs his victims, then he is impotent. Then he said he was going to change the way I profile.”

Spencer’s mind went back to the gun range a few weeks back. Hotch’s reaction to his talk of perps who stab their victims was suddenly, and horrifically. making sense.

“Then he stabbed me the final time, then pulled down my trousers.”

The sick feeling in Spencer’s stomach intensified. _No, no don’t say-_

 “Then he raped me.”

Reid felt all of the colour leech from the room.

“Oh god, Hotch…”

 “I was too weak from blood loss to fight back.”

“Hotch I’m so sorry.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

_And you’re a damned profiler! Comfort him._

He lifted a hand as though to touch him, and then put it down again.

“I thought it best you knew everything if we were going to embark on a relationship.”

“I don’t know what-“

Hotch silenced him with a kiss on his lips. Spencer was the first to pull back.

“Will you… you really should talk to someone about this. Someone other than me and Rossi, I mean.”

“You mean a professional.”  His expression was indecipherable.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of-“

“I’m not ashamed,” he said, a little too quickly. “Look, I’m dealing with it. I just need more time.”

Spencer frowned, still rather uncertain.

“Tell me what you want me to do.”

A slight smile flitted across the handsome face. “Nothing.”

###

Spencer wasn’t sure how they ended up in his bed, from the intense conversation on the couch. Hotch was as considerate and gentle a lover as he had imagined. There was a momentary hiccup, just before the older man was about to enter him, when a look of complete worry and uncertainty overtook the handsome face. Spencer assured him that he did, indeed want this.

But only if Hotch was one hundred percent comfortable.

Spencer found it difficult not to compare his new lover to Morgan. Morgan liked experimenting with unusual positions. Hotch was determined to face him, kissing him constantly on the mouth, while slowly moving within him. He was all soft touches and whispered endearments, whereas Morgan was all power and vigor.

Though his orgasm wasn’t as powerful as when it was with Morgan, there was certain sweetness to it; particularly as Hotch leant down to whisper in his ear ‘god you’re beautiful’ as Reid gasped and shuddered, clutching frantically at his shoulders.

The screech of the alarm drifted into his REM state. Spencer moaned and reached for it, depressing the snooze button. He rolled over, hoping to at least snuggle up to the warmth-

Only he was simply reaching more cold sheets.

Spencer opened his eyes, pushing down his disappointment at the empty bed beside him.

Well, it wasn’t as though he was too surprised.

After all-

A fully clothed Hotch stepped into the room, bearing a breakfast tray of what looked to be bacon and eggs.

“Wasn’t sure how you liked them… are you alright?”

Spencer couldn’t help but grin. “I’m wonderful.”

###

“Pretty boy!”

Spencer turned from where he was stirring his coffee, pushing down the guilt twisting is stomach.

“Morgan, about last night…”

“You know I’ve never seen Hotch in such a good mood.” Morgan caught the look on Reid’s face and laughed. He leant forward. “I take it this means our casual fling is over?” He whispered.

“Morgan… I…”

“It’s ok, kid. It’s ok.” Was it Spencer’s imagination or was there a momentary sorrow flitting across Morgan’s genial features? “You deserve someone who can give you what you need.”

_I would have… with you, in a heartbeat._

“Don’t worry, Reid. I’m a big boy. I’ll be fine.” Derek turned to walk away then looked back.

“Damn, you’re pretty,” he said, almost wistfully.

###

“How did Morgan take it?” Hotch asked, as Reid climbed into the car. He inwardly sighed. Hotch had evidentially been waiting all day to ask this.

“He’s fine. You know Morgan. He’s always got offers.”

Hotch reached out and took his hand. “I thought we could go somewhere nice for dinner. My treat.”

Reid felt something blossom inside him. He was in a relationship. A bona fida proper relationship.

“Then we could go back to mine?” He asked, heart hammering.

“Sure thing. Whatever you want.”

   
tbc...  
 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all reading, kudo'ing and commenting.  
> Hope you like this one :)

“Certainly. Of course.”

Spencer rolled over, placing his arm over his exposed ear, though it did little to block out the noise.

“We can be there before ten. Yes, goodbye.”

A gentle hand touched his shoulder.

“Spencer, you need to wake up.”

He moaned, pulled his legs further up into his stomach, and moved his head, so his face now pressed into the pillow, in an unusual form of protest.

“Come on, grumpy.” Soft lips caressed the back of his neck. “We have a job. Thankfully, it's a local one. You take the first shower. I need to contact the others.”

Grumbling, Spencer kicked the blankets off and rose out of bed.

*

In the drive in, Hotch was silent. For his part, Spencer wasn't sure what the convention was, when it came to arriving back at work, after spending the night with one's superior. He supposed it wasn't pertinent to start talking about the relationship. Not that he even knew what to say, in any case. No, he decided that silence was possibly the best option.

Upon arriving at the underground car park, Hotch drove to his parking bay, and, in what Spencer understood was his usual fashion, swung the car around and reversed into his private spot. Easier for him to come out, Spencer supposed. Still, there was something reassuring about Hotch parking in such a fashion; reliable, practical ... so 'Hotch'. Spencer suddenly, inexplicably felt like smiling.

For a moment, after turning off the ignition, Hotch did not move, simply sat, staring at the keys, as though they were the answer to some mystical problem. Finally, he turned to face Spencer.

“Everything alright?”

Spencer stared back, bewildered. “Of course.”

A smile lit up Hotch's face. Rare, just for him. Spencer could feel his heart in his chest. Twang. Twang. Twang. The plucking of a guitar string. Hotch reached up and ran his long finger's through Spencer's hair.

“Alright, let's go.” When he then pulled away, Spencer physically felt the loss.

*

As the others started to pile into the office, one by one, Spencer found it difficult to retain his composure. Hotch, for his part, was in the conference room, setting up the introduction to this new case. Spencer was certain that they would look at him and know what he did the night before; that he'd allowed his superior into his body, to touch and kiss him in the most intimate of areas. They others were, after all, profilers. Furthermore, he wasn't very difficult to psycho-analyse.

“You're so beautiful...” Hotch had mused, as he gently rocked within him, his hand tenderly stroking his face.

“You should talk! Honestly, man, you're hot!” Spencer had said, lost in the calm dark eyes staring down at him. This earned a somewhat timid smile from Hotch.

_No no don't think about that. Not here!_

To avoid reminiscing about the lovemaking of the night before, Spencer drank three cups of coffee, perused old cases on his computer, then spent a fair amount of time in the bathroom, in an attempt to deliberately avoid the others.

“Pretty boy! There you are!” Morgan shouted, as he stepped out of the bathroom. He felt a hand clap on his shoulder. “I take it you've had five cups of coffee already?”

Spencer gave him a half smile.

“I never understood why you were so chipper in the morning,” JJ said to Morgan, as she passed. “Spence here is acting normal. You're the one who isn't.”

Morgan laughed. “Touche, my dear JJ. Touche.”

“Alright, everyone in the conference room,” Hotch said.

*

The case was, indeed, local, barely an hour out from Richmond,  involving an arsonist who targeted spiritualist churches. In the latest blaze,a few nights before, a homeless man, using the church for shelter for the night, died, changing the case now to a homicide investigation. The police were convinced that the crimes were politically based. The team knew different. Their profile suggested staking out the local cemetery, in the knowledge that the arsonist, in their guilt, would visit the grave of the victim.

Around ten that night, a drugged up, drunk teenage boy came to the unmarked grave of the man, weeping copiously.

In Spencer's estimation, it was the easiest case they'd ever worked on.

Good, with a couple of days off, it meant more time for.. other activities. Feeling bold (particularly over the fact that there were no knowing glances, or suggestive comments, all day, from any of his team mates. If they were suspicious of him and Hotch, they were keeping quiet about it), he knocked on the open door to Hotch's office. The man was seated at his desk, his laptop open before himself.

 Hotch only looked up momentarily, to see who was before him, then concentrated back on his work, once more.

“I'll be busy for a while, finishing off this report. Do you mind getting a lift with someone else?”

Spencer backed away, feeling as though he'd been whacked in the chest with a hammer.

“Hey, pretty boy, how are you getting home?”

Spencer turned to face the smiling handsome man, suddenly standing to his side.

“With you," he replied.

*

“.... I just think that the audience will start to dwindle. It's the same with a lot of these kinds of films. Sure, super hero films are big at the moment, but preparing for the next twenty years...” Morgan prattled on. Spencer nodded in the right areas, not denying the irony of his distinct lack of enthusiasm for the subject matter. Usually, he liked to talk about movies. They were a nice distraction from the more complicated subjects of life.

Such as romance.

_Or jerky men who said they wanted a relationship, then rejected the person the first moment anything work related came up._

But then, maybe he was being a bit too sensitive.

“Alright, what's wrong?” Derek turned off the ignition. Spencer looked ahead of himself and was surprised to see his apartment block in the foreground. _We're here already?_ “Is it... Hotch?”

“I don't know what you're talking about....”

“Look, Hotch is... complicated...”

“Honestly, Morgan... Derek. I really don't know what you're talking about... He's dropped me home a couple of times. That's it.”

“Oh...” A look of slight confusion overcame the handsome features.

Taking the initiative, Spencer leant over and forced his mouth on Morgan's. The other man instantly reciprocated. As usual, the kiss was hot, passionate. Morgan was the first to pull away.

“Are you sure?”

“Come inside,” Spencer begged.

*

“Oh, pretty boy...” Derek moaned, behind him. Spencer felt his legs being thrust further apart, the movement within him becoming more strenuous, almost painful. He didn't care. He wanted it hard and fast. Moaning, he gripped his hands against the top of the couch, digging his nails into the soft fabric of the cover. It wouldn't be long now... wasn't long... he was...

“Derek!” He cried out, allowing himself to reach his peak, to empty himself all over couch cushions. A moment later, he heard Derek cry out and felt the release inside of himself.

For a moment, both lay, panting, as Derek dropped his legs and slowly removed himself.

“Wow! That was... that was something...” Derek said.

Spencer turned around and cupped his chin with his elbow, watching him start to redress. He could feel something slide down his thigh. So this was what it felt like to not use protection. It felt more intimate somehow. They had discussed it, initially, upon entering the house. Morgan had assured him that he had been cleared of any STDs a few weeks earlier and, further more, constantly tested. Spencer, who only had one sexual partner before Morgan or Hotch, knew for a fact that he had no STDs.

“You're leaving, already?”

“I have to get up early. Told mum I'd visit her, tomorrow. Hey...” Derek knelt before him, gently taking his chin in his hand. “It's all just fun, right?”

Spencer forced a smile. “Sure thing.”

Only he couldn't shake the feeling of humiliation, of being used.

_You're the one who begged him to come inside, remember? In more ways than one! Hard-ee-har!_

He reached for his clothes and started pulling them on. His mobile phone, in his trouser's pocket, was flashing, signalling a message. He flicked it open. The message was from Hotch.

**Sorry about tonight. How about I make it up to you tomorrow? Come to my house around 10am.**

Spencer watched Derek put his jumper back on and felt his innards squeeze with guilt.

*  
“Spencer!” Jack's voice was so shrill with excitement, that Spencer resisted the urge to cover his ears.

“Hi Jack,” he grinned, allowing the boy to engulf him in a hug, ignoring the disappointment cutting through his body, upon seeing him. It meant less 'alone time' with Hotch.

“Come on in, I want to show you something...”

Spencer allowed Jack to lead him through the foyer and past the kitchen. Hotch was standing by the bench, appearing to be mixing flour into a bowl. Upon seeing him, Spencer felt guilt twist his stomach, once more.

“Hey there,” Hotch's genuine smile was not helping.

“Hey...”

Jack continued to lead him down the hall, to his bedroom. Spencer looked around, noting the ordered collection of toys, lined on shelves, along with dozens of dvds (alphabetically ordered, he noted, with approval), an obviously vacuumed floor bare of any toys or clothes, as well as a fastidiously made bed. Hotch obviously made certain that his son kept a tidy room. Spencer found that he wasn't surprised. The only mess was a litter of dvds at the foot of the plasma television, which was set in the wall.

“Check this out!” Jack pulled out a box from under the bed and started to rummage through it. He finally pulled out the desired item, and handed it to Spencer, who gasped.

“This is the original?”

Jack nodded. Still in it's plastic container, sat an original Darth Vader figurine.

“Plus...”

He dug out similar figurines of Luke, Leia, Han, C3PO, R2D2 and Lando, all in their original packaging.

“These are awesome, Jack!” Spencer started to find himself growing rather excited, despite himself.

“Dad says not to take them out of their containers, because they'll lose value. But I don't care. What do you think?”

“I think you should do what you want.”

“I want to take them out of their containers.”

*

“Are you gonna be alright, Luke?” Spencer, playing Han, directed his action figurine towards Jack's Luke. Behind him, sat the millennium falcon (when Jack pulled it out, the doctor spent a good couple of minutes fanboying,before they resumed play).

“Wish me luck, Han,” Jack's Luke said.

A knock on the door startled them both and they jumped.

“Jack, Jessica's here,” Hotch said.

“Oh...” Jack's face twisted down in an almost comical look of disappointment.

“Maybe Spencer will play with you later, if you nicely ask him.”

“Ok!” The face brightened immeasurably.

“Alright, get your stuff together.”

*

Hotch closed the door behind Jack.

“Thanks for that,” he said, to Spencer.

“No problem. He's great fun.”

“Spencer, we need to talk.”

“What's wrong?”  Hotch was looking at him with an odd, closed expression, that sent his heart muscles quivering wildly.

“There are two things that I value the most, in a relationship. Monogamy and trust. Now, I can't speak for you. You must do what is beneficial for yourself. I would appreciate it if you answered the question I'm about to ask honestly.”

Spencer instantly realised two things. Firstly, Hotch had clearly prepared that speech. Secondly, he knew about him and Morgan.

_He's one of the best profilers in the bureau. Why am I not surprised?_

“Last night, did you sleep with Derek Morgan?”

Spencer felt tears prick the corner of his eyes, his heart beating a frenzied tattoo in his chest.

“Yes.”

Hotch closed his eyes, nodding. When he opened them, the obvious pain in the dark irises caused the tears to fall  down Spencer's face.

“Thank you for your honesty. I knew, as soon as you walked into the house. The look on your face.”

Spencer found that he couldn’t answer. He reached his hand up to wipe the tears from his cheeks but they continued to fall, unabated.

“I won't tell you what to do. This is your decision. I can only tell you that I can't be with someone who is sleeping with another.”

Spencer choked back a sob, still unable to stop the tears from falling down his face.

“It is not a part of my moral compass. I'm sorry, but if you continue to sleep with Morgan you can't be with me, also.”

“I won't. I don't want to.”

“What happened last night?”

Spencer looked down, feeling his face flush.

“Is it because I was working late? Is that why?”

“I thought you were... rejecting me...”

Hotch was silent a long moment.

Please don't reject me, Spencer thought but found he couldn't put words to his thoughts.

“Can you understand that the knowledge that you were intimate with Morgan last night has hurt me deeply? Particularly after I imparted some very personal secrets to you the night before?”

Spencer nodded, feeling suitably chastised.

“Can you understand that?”

“Yes, I understand,” he found he couldn't look Hotch in the eyes.

“I think this can go somewhere. But first, I have to trust you. So you need to decide. Me or Morgan. I'm sorry to put this on you but that is just the way it is.”

“I want to be with you. I don't know why I... I don't know why on Friday...”

“Because you wished to punish me. No more games, Spencer.”

“No because I honestly thought you were using me for sex!” As soon as he said it, he realised how ridiculous it sounded.

Hotch was silent long enough for Spencer to look up.

“If you want me to leave, I'll-”

“Right now I'm thinking about how much I want to smack Derek Morgan,” Hotch said.

“No, it's not his fault! We both got what we wanted. It wasn't a big deal.”

“Well, for me it is. I can't go into a casual relationship.”

“I'm sorry. I'm an idiot when it comes to this kind of stuff. I get that.”

“If you want to be with me, then please don't sleep with Derek Morgan again.”

“I won't.” Spencer started wiping at his face.

For a moment, Hotch simply stared at him.

“Come on, breakfast is ready.”

Hotch simply turned and started to walk away from him, through the arch way to the dining room. Spencer hesitated a moment, then followed, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the six-seater dining table.

Hotch went into the kitchen a moment and then came back, a plate of pancakes in hand.

“ You may be wondering where Jack got his Star Wars figurines from. I may have helped him,” Hotch smiled. Unguarded, warm. Spencer felt his insides flutter. “I may have gone to my parent's house and searched their basement.”

_He's not rejecting me!_

“So, you were a nerd, as a kid?” In his relief, Spencer laughed a little too loudly, as he absently watched Hotch place two pancakes onto his plate.

“Don't tell Jack. He thinks I got them on the internet.”

He sat opposite and reached for the maple syrup, pouring it liberally over his pancakes.

“Do help yourself. There's maple syrup, jam, butter,” Hotch gestured to all of the condiments on the table.

Spencer grabbed the butter and started to spread it on his pancakes.

It wasn't long until he was eating voraciously, while engaging in an interesting conversation with Hotch about Star Wars. It occurred to him that he would never have this kind of conversation with Derek Morgan. No, this wasn't fair, he told himself. He needed to stop comparing one man to the other. Besides, he reminded himself, Morgan had spent fifteen minutes the night before talking about the Marvel film line up.

“Finished?” Hotch stood up and grabbed his plate.

“Wait!” Spencer stood up, kicking the chair back with his foot. Hotch looked at him, expectantly.

“Sit down,” he ordered.

Looking rather bemused, Hotch sat down in Spencer's chair. The bemusement turned to something more, something more animalistic, as Spencer sat on his lap, leant down and started to kiss him, passionately on the mouth. Hotch groaned, running a hand through Spencer's hair, the other reaching under his shirt, pulling it from his pants.

_That's it, first Derek, now Hotch. You had a shower, but that wouldn't be enough to clean the other man from you. Now you're gonna let Hotch have  the proverbial sloppy seconds._

Hotch released from his mouth, trailing his lips down his chin to his neck.

_He doesn't deserve you._

Sensing Spencer's sudden non-compliance, Hotch ceased in his attentions.

“I'm sorry...” Spencer said.

“It's alright, I'll do as little, or much as you want. There's no race here,” Hotch assured him.

Spencer could feel his face burn.

_It's true, he doesn't deserve you._

“I was thinking... there's this old cinema. Beautiful building, not far from here,” as Hotch talked, he continued to run a hand through Spencer's hair. “Plays old movies and documentaries. Supposedly haunted. Anyway, they're playing this excellent documentary, today called 'In the Shadow of the Moon'. Have you seen it?”

Spencer shook his head.

“It's about humankind landing on the moon. I thought we could go see it.”

“Sure...”

“Hey...” Hotch leant forward and kissed him on the lips. “No being miserable. Not on our day off.”

*

It occurred to Spencer, seated in the cafe overlooking the busy street, as he stirred his coffee, that Hotch was 'courting' him. Certainly, he had little experience in such matters. However, the movies, the dinners, the cooking... it was all a part of some kind of game plan. Though he was unsure as to what. After all, they had already made love.

He told himself not to over-think it. Was he enjoying himself? He had to think that yes, very much so. Then what's the problem? The logical part of himself asked.

_The problem is that he'll find out the real me and then be desperate to run away, as far away as possible._

“I'm glad you cut your hair,” Hotch said.

“Huh?”

“It was truly growing into a... well it was an interesting rat's nest....”

Spencer ran a hand through the shorter, more manageable locks.

“Ah thank you...” _I never realised that you noticed, or cared._

Hotch suddenly looked at his watch. “Oh, damn, I have to pick Jack up. I told Jessica that I'd take him tonight.”

“Oh, that's... if you could just drop me off at the bus station, I can...”

“You're welcome to stay. We won't be doing much. Actually, Jack is determined to see the new Captain America film. He says all of his friends have seen it so has been utterly unrelenting.”

“You want me to... stay... at yours?” Spencer felt as though he suddenly couldn't understand english.

“I won't be up for any major cooking. We'll probably just order in.”

*

Upon arriving home, Jack tried to drag Spencer back into his room to play with his star wars figurines, some more. Spencer felt more than a little grateful to Hotch for telling Jack that the 'adults' were talking. He'd have to play by himself, a while.

Hotch was being utterly literal. They sat on the lounge opposite each other and talked. It seemed, to Spencer that they seemed to do _a lot_ of talking.

The topic of conversation, that night, started about childhood favourite television shows and ended about ghost stories, followed by an extended discussion about whether ghosts were even real and, further more, could be explained scientifically.

One aspect that seemed missing from all of the time spent with Hotch was the physical one. Spencer told himself that perhaps Hotch didn't want to show physical affection with Jack in the house. He could understand that. However, it seemed he went from one extreme to the other; from Morgan who only ever wanted to be physical, and Hotch, who seemed content to simply sit and talk, for hours.

Spencer then recalled what Hotch had revealed to him about what had happened with the Reaper and felt like smacking himself.

Honestly, he berated himself. What is wrong with you? You're upset because a man who has been raped is a bit shy about physical affection? You should be grateful that he is able to be intimate at all!

As the sky darkened outside, they ordered pizza, and Hotch played the “Captain America: Winter Soldier” dvd on the plasma television. Jack sat on a bean bag in front of them, while they reclined on the couch. Spencer found that he couldn't enjoy the film,was too aware of Hotch seated so tantalisingly close to himself. At one point, as the Winter Soldier and Captain America fought, Hotch reached across and started to gently stroke Spencer's thigh, before sliding it up and simply leaving his hand, warm and gentle, on his hip. It remained there, until just before the end of the movie.

Finally, after the film ended and Jack had retired to bed, Hotch signaled for Spencer to come with him, into the bedroom. Stepping inside, Spencer felt a sudden rush of nerves.

_How far away is Jack's room, again?_

Hotch grabbed him around the waist and started kissing him, passionately, on the mouth.

_Could Jack hear?_

Spencer tried not to think about it, as Hotch started unzipping his jeans.

“It's alright. He'll sleep through an atomic weapon going off,” Hotch said, reaching into Spencer's pants.

_You really are quite the hussy._

“I can't...I'm sorry...” Spencer disentangled himself from his superior. This time, Hotch did not bother to hide his look of disappointment.

“What's wrong?”

“I guess, I'll... go...”

“If you feel you must, then I'll pay for a cab, but I'd prefer you didn't. Look, it's late. We don't have to be intimate.”

“I'm sorry, I think I'm just... tired.”

“I more than understand tired. Believe me. How we just lie down together?”

Honestly, what is wrong with me? Spencer thought, as he stepped out of his jeans and lay down, on the bed, in his t-shirt and boxers. Hotch likewise stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt and lay down next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist. Spencer felt warm, protected, as Hotch switched off the bedside light.

“I could fall in love with you...” Hotch murmured. “So easily...”

Spencer lay in the darkness, attempting to sort through the mixture of alarm and excitement that statement caused within himself.

Tbc...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sweet, cute day between Hotch and Spencer (with a bit of hot sex thrown in).
> 
> In other words, the calm before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all reading, reviewing and commenting.
> 
> Sorry for the delay with this chapter. Was pretty busy for a while. Things have since calmed down, so will be able to post more frequently again :).

_Tap tap tap taptaptaptaptaptap._

The sound of rain, pounding the window, lifted the cobwebs of sleep from his eyes. A brief check of his surroundings confirmed that he was alone.

Spencer yawned and glanced at the alarm clock, seated on the bedside drawer.

10:09 showed on the digital display.

_Damn... slept in._

With goose pimples swiftly forming on his uncovered arms and legs, Spencer sprung out of bed and crossed over to the en-suite. Completing his early morning business, he washed his hands and then returned to the bedroom, glancing at Hotch's very cosy looking dressing gown, lying at the end of the queen sized mattress. For a moment, he deliberated, before snatching it off the covers and dressing himself. It was a little oversized and as soft and comfortable as he suspected it would be.

As he walked down the hall, outside the bedroom, to the living room, he overheard voices, coming from the foyer.

“Thank you for picking him up.”

“No problem.” Female voice.

“You have fun tonight, Jack.”

“Say goodbye to Spencer for me, would you dad?”

Spencer could not help but smile a little.

“Work colleague,” Hotch's gruff tone.

“Oh are you working on a case?” The woman asked.

Spencer had now reached the end of the hall, his hand on the half open door. He could just make out Hotch's figure, standing side-on to him.

“I'd rather not discuss work matters.”

“Oh, certainly, sorry.” Distinct awkwardness in her voice.

“Alright, goodbye, Jack,” Hotch momentarily disappeared from view.

Spencer waited until he heard the front door close, before opening the door fully and striding into the room.

“Nice robe,” Hotch's face was impassive.

“I hope you don't mind-”

Hotch shrugged. “Coffee?”

“That would be great.”

He followed Hotch into the kitchen, where a pot was already brewing. The heady aroma of coffee beans filled the air.

Hotch switched off the machine and poured the dark liquid into two mugs.

“Milk is in the fridge. There's the sugar,” he pointed to a bowl, already on the counter.

Feeling Hotch's eyes on him, Spencer opened the fridge and took the milk out.

“Yesterday was a lot of fun. I really do enjoy spending time with you.”

“I agree,” Spencer said, pouring a shot of milk into his coffee.”

As Spencer replaced the carton in the fridge, the other man simply picked up his mug and carried it to the dining table. Spencer emptied half the bowl of sugar into his own mug, then followed Hotch and sat down, opposite him, suddenly feeling a little awkward. What was considered 'normal behaviour', after spending the night with one's superior, and then having breakfast with them?

“I thought, today, we could do whatever you wanted. Seeing as yesterday was my day. Thank you for staying over, by the way,” clear warmth in Hotch's smile.

“I don't know,” Spencer took a sip of his coffee. It tasted sweet, strong, just how he liked it. “What do you usually do, on the weekend?”

“Gardening...” Hotch turned his head to look outside the dining room window,to the clear wintry weather, outside. His lips downturned into a distinct frown. “House cleaning, exercise.”

“Sounds thrilling,” Spencer smiled.

“Jack and I might play a board game, or watch a film.”

“What board games?”

“We have a few. Trivial pursuit. Although you would wipe the floor with me, on that one.”

Spencer heard a slight humour in his tone.

“I quite like board games,” Spencer admitted. These were normal actions, that normal people partook in. It felt a bit disjointed, to be discussing such things with Hotch, with whom he spent most of his time, in their working life, talking about all manner of horrific crimes.

“I read, a lot,” Spencer admitted, trying his best to ignore the disjointedness he felt, at the situation.

“So do I. I just finished 'Life of Pi'. I wanted to read the book before seeing the film.”

“It does pose a lot of existentialist questions-” Spencer began.

Hotch suddenly put his coffee mug down on the table, scooted over in his chair, took Spencer's face in his hands and kissed his cheeks, his chin, finally his lips. The kiss deepened. Spencer found himself moaning into Hotch's mouth.

“How about we continue this in the bedroom?” Hotch asked, pulling back.

By the time they reached the room, Spencer was already agonisingly hard. Various items of clothing were now deposited throughout the house.

_Like Hansel and Gretel. Follow the clothes- trail..._

Hotch gently eased him back onto the bed and then started to kiss down his chest and stomach. As soon as he felt his superior take him into his mouth, he knew it wasn't going to last long. He grabbed the lube from the bedside table and uncapped it, throwing it down to Hotch, who wasted no time in tenderly moving his finger within him, and finding that sweet spot that made Spencer cry out in titillation. The conjoined feeling of pleasure from the attention to the two, exceedingly sensitive, parts of his body, quickly started to become overwhelming, as Hotch started to slowly add more fingers.

“Please... please...” he moaned. “Stop! Or I'm gonna-!”

Hotch instantly ceased, withdrawing his hands and moving up his body, until he was face to face with him, one hand reaching into his hair, the other fumbling around in the drawer. It took a moment for Spencer to realise what he was searching for.

“I'm clean,” Spencer said. “I always get tested. I've never... Even then, I'm always safe...”

Except for that one time, with Morgan... but he definitely wasn't going to talk about that particular instance.

He suddenly realised that Hotch had stilled above him, all of the blood drained from his face.

“Hotch?”

“I am too... There was only that one time... ” Hotch suddenly climbed off him and lay down beside him. “I guess I don't need to tell you who it was.”

Spencer felt all of his former passion instantly diminish, to be replaced by a sickened feeling, that seemed to freeze of all his insides.

_George Foyett._

“It's alright.” Spencer turned to face him, grabbing his hand. The flesh felt rather clammy, in his palm. “We don't have to... we don't have to do anything...”

Hotch fell silent. Spencer felt at a loss as to what else to say. When, on the job, he had to deal with a sexual assault survivor, his distance from the victim protected him, to a large extent, from the true horror of what they had gone through. He could reel off the facts and statistics without actually being drawn into the other's pain. However, the knowledge of an intimate partner being subject to such a terror, only served to increase his feeling of helplessness, the true understanding that he simply lacked the right psychological facilities, to properly deal with their suffering.

“I knew what he was going to do, knew I was powerless to stop him,” Hotch said. “Even so, I remember asking him to use a condom. If he was going to violate me, then at least it didn’t have to be... He just laughed. I think that was part of the plan, not only to violate me physically, but to violate my mind, also. That year, waiting to be told that I definitely hadn't contracted anything off him.... I'm sorry, this obviously is the wrong time to be having this kind of conversation,” he said the last sentence with a trace of humour.

He turned to face Spencer, lifting his hand and kissing it.

“I know all of the literature, I'm a profiler, right?” He laughed, the noise odd in it's lack of humour. “Report it, see a counsellor. Understand that it's about power and humiliation, not sexual desire. Accept that there are no right or wrong ways to react to such a horrendous act.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “It happened years ago and I think about it every day. Relive it, most nights, in my dreams. Except when I was with you. I slept peacefully, those nights.”

“Hotch...” Spencer told himself that, for a profiler with a genius IQ, he was acting like a complete moron.

_Say something constructive to him!_

“Now I've truly messed that sexual experience up. I'm sure it would have been just _awful_ , making love with you bareback, as it were,” he said, with such a straight face that it took a moment for Spencer to realise he was being ironic.

Spencer couldn't find the humour. He suddenly found that nothing seemed funny to him, in that moment.

“I think... maybe, if you talked to someone... Look, after Henkel-”

“Let's play a game. Truth or Dare.”

“What?” The sudden change in conversation utterly threw him.

“Haven't you played it before? I ask you a question and you-”

“Yes, I know the basics of the game...”

“Well?”

Spencer simply stared at him, a moment, deciding what to do. He came to the conclusion that it was best not to reroute back to the former conversation.

_If he doesn't want to talk about it, don't push him._

“Alright, let's play. Truth or dare?” Spencer asked.

“Truth.”

Spencer carefully considered his question.

“Have you been in a relationship with any other men?”

A momentary pain flitted through the dark eyes.

“There was one... in college. Lasted about six months. It finished when he moved to New York. I felt overcome with guilt and told Hailey. It took a long time for her to trust me again. From then, I vowed to always be monogamous. There were a few more, when Hailey and I separated. Neither were very serious.”

Spencer nodded, sated.

“Alright, what about you? Truth or dare?” Hotch asked.

“Truth.”

“It must have taken a lot of courage to make the first move, when you kissed me in the car.”

“It did,” Spencer admitted, feeling his heart start to thump in his chest, at the delicious memory.

“I felt proud of you. I don't know if I could have made the first move,” Hotch ran his fingers through Spencer's hair. “As much as I wanted to.”

“Truth or dare?” Spencer whispered, as Hotch moved closer, breath now fanning across his face.

“Dare,” Hotch was so close that he could count individual eyelashes.

“Kiss me,” Spencer said. “But make it passionate, make me breathless.”

Hotch pressed his lips against Spencer's and made good on the dare, doing things, with his tongue, in Spencer’s mouth, that sent frissions of pleasure, from the roof of his gums, to the tips of his fingertips and toes. Hotch then gently pressed him back onto the bed, hands freely wandering over his body, stroking his inner thigh, his stomach, rubbing his nipples. Spencer started to moan, to press his erection up against Hotch's.

Hotch abruptly stopped, kneeling up over him.

“Truth or dare?” Hotch asked.

“Dare,” Spencer managed to choke out.

“I'm going to do something to you, and you are not going to make a sound, no moaning, nothing, understand?”

“Yes?”

Hotch scooted down his body.

_What is he-? Oh!_

As Hotch started applying the technique he'd used, to great effect, in his mouth, on the one area that really wanted the attention, it took all of Spencer's control not to start crying out, in ecstasy. Instead, he started to concentrate on his breathing. Shallow breaths. In out. In out.

Hotch fumbled around with his hand for the lube. Spencer helped him,unscrewing the lid and handing it to him.

In. Out in out. Inhale exhale inhale exhale.

Hotch's fingers reached into him, pressing hard against his prostate, while his mouth expertly worked him the other side- in out inhale exhale-

It was too much. Far too much he was.

“Oooh!”

Hotch sat up, gently removing his fingers.

“You lost the dare. You'll have to perform a forfeit.”

Spencer no longer cared about the game. He sprang up and forced their mouths together, grabbing the lube and squeezing it onto his hand, and then onto Hotch's cock.

“Spencer, are you... are you sure?” He asked, as Spencer crawled into his lap, positioning himself above him.

“Are you?”

“I want you... so badly,” Hotch breathed.

Both groaned as Spencer slowly lowered himself down, then stopped, giving himself time to get used to the feeling of being filled by Hotch. He could feel Hotch's lips on his neck, one hand on his cock, the other stroking his hair, his back. Spencer started to move, slowly at first, before gathering speed. He gently pushed Hotch back, determining to ride him, while he lay back and watched, only Hotch pulled him back with him, doing wonders, with his tongue, in his mouth. Hotch then slid a tongue to his ear. Broken half sentences. Endearments.

“So beautiful... you're so...”

Spencer found himself being rolled and went with it, until he was on the bottom. He wrapped his legs around Hotch's waist, kissing Hotch's neck, as the man gasped above him.

“Yes, Spencer...” he moaned.

Spencer flung his head back, feeling his orgasm build. He started to moan, to gasp. Above him, Hotch continued to move, in a frantic motion. Hotch's head was flung back, his eyes closed, mouth open. Spencer allowed himself to be brought right over, crying out in extreme passion, as he heard Hotch scream out his name, and felt the now familiar rush of warmth inside him.

Hotch collapsed, his head against his chest, as he slowly removed himself.

“Are you alright?” He asked, turning his face to kiss Spencer on the chest.

“Fantastic,” Spencer admitted. “Thank you for being so intimate with me.”

Hotch was silent a moment. “Maybe, one day, you could be that intimate with me. If that's...”

Spencer thought of the few times that he had penetrated Morgan. Yes, he did like to be versatile. But only if the other partner was utterly willing.

“Only when you're absolutely comfortable with it,” Spencer said.

***  
Feeling pressure in his bladder, Spencer slid down the heavy blankets and crept out of bed, moving swiftly to the en-suite. After finishing, he washed his hands, and moved, as fast as he was able, shivering slightly, to the much appreciated bed, with warm blankets, and much warmer body to snuggle up to.

Said body lay on his back, snoring softly. Spencer curled up against his side, still unable to shake the strangeness of being there, of feeling so complacent. Earlier, after making love, both had simply... talked. The upcoming federal election, the space programme and possibility of sending astronauts to Mars, the kookiness of conspiracy theories, how Hotch's plants were doing, how Jack was doing in school, Spencer's mum. It seemed the only topic, which to Spencer was the obvious one to bring up, turned out to be the one that Hotch didn't seem to want to talk about.

Their work.

Hotch then suggested that Spencer showered, while he started on dinner. Spencer considered asking him to join, then decided against it. After salad and ham sandwiches for lunch, both had retired to the lounge room, where Spencer started to reread one of Hotch's Stephen Hawking books, occasionally making comment, and Hotch took out his laptop and started to cruise the internet, every so often pointing out to Spencer interesting sites that he'd found.

To Spencer, it all seemed so... domestic. Thinking of it now, he could see them in fifty years; the faded couch, the extra grey in Hotch's hair and lines on his face. Rather than a thrill, it sent a slight flutter of panic through his stomach. The dinner, after. Hotch made beef stroganoff, followed by a movie, Jaws, snuggling up on the couch, together. Was this a typical day with Hailey, when she was alive?

No, no. Spencer wasn't sure if he was up for this. He rolled over onto his side, facing away from Hotch.

When they retired to the bedroom, after the movie and made love for the second time, then Spencer had felt more in control. No domesticity, just pure, unadulterated need.

It's too much, he told himself. Can't we just be casual, like with Morgan? Why does everything have to be so serious, so suddenly?

Because this is what a relationship is, another part of himself spoke back. Not all love making and cuddles and endearments. Sometimes, it's as simple as sitting next to each other, reading various media.

Spencer rolled back to Hotch's warmth, pressing against his side.

You'll be alright, he told himself. You won't mess this up.

He didn't truly believe that.

*

In the morning, when the alarm went off, he reached over and pressed snooze, then snuggled up against the warm body, once more. As Hotch placed an arm around his shoulders, he suddenly remembered that he never did get to perform the 'forfeit' of the 'truth or dare'. He resolved to follow through on such actions, at some point that day.

Tbc...


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay.  
> Warning for references to Morgan's molestation.

Spencer felt a light touch on his cheek, as though a cobweb had floated down and now rested gently on his flesh.

“We have a case,” Hotch whispered,  breath hot against his ear.

“Ok, just give me-”

“It's ok. You can rest a bit more. I deliberately set the alarm earlier. There's some work I need to catch up on, in the office.”

Spencer frowned and opened his eyes. Hotch stood before him, fully dressed. Immaculate, as always.

_Must have fallen back asleep, after the alarm went off. That's a first!_

“I'll leave some money for you to catch a taxi to work.”

Spencer glanced over to the alarm clock, on the bedside table. Four am flashed.

For a moment, he considered what to do. Going back to bed for another hour was very tempting. He would get up, get dressed-

Getting dressed required clothing.

Spencer groaned and started to sit up.

“Honestly, Spencer-” Hotch began.

“I don't have a change of clothes.”

“Oh... how silly of the both of us.”

Certainly, Spencer thought. How silly, indeed. He had been wearing the same clothes for two days, now. Perfectly acceptable, when staying at Hotch's for the weekend, but not exactly satisfactory for a government job.

“Ok, do you want to come with me? We can swing by your place on the way.”

Spencer yawned, covering his mouth, as he considered his options.

“Is it alright if you drop me off at mine? I would like to have a shower. I'll take the bus, or even drive in, much to the misfortune of other drivers on the road.”

This elicited a tiny smile.

“Certainly, if that's what you want.”

Actually, it wasn’t at all what he wanted. He wanted to stay in all day and make love a few more times.

“Yes, that's fine.”

*

Spencer wasn't sure how the time had managed to creep away from him. By the time Hotch had dropped him off and he'd showered, dressed and had breakfast, it was well past the latest time for him to catch public transport, to get to work on time. He ended up having to drive, at reckless speeds, weaving in and out of traffic, and acting like the kind of crazy driver that he usually complained about. By the time he arrived in the office, his hair was stuck up in crazy sweaty tangles all over his face and his shirt felt as though it had been glued to his chest. JJ took one look at him and laughed.

“Bad morning, huh?”

“I drove in.”

“Gotta love that traffic.”

This forced a smile, from Spencer. Watching her, he recalled his former 'crush'. It had since been replaced by something deeper, a profound respect and love that went beyond mere biochemical reactions.

“Everything alright, Spence?” JJ asked.

“I was just thinking how much I appreciate your friendship.”

JJ looked a little taken aback. “Oh, thank you. I appreciate you too.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Anything you ever need...”

She was being sincere, of that he had no doubt. For a moment, he considered confessing his rather complicated love life. JJ would be discrete. She would listen without judgement.

No. He wasn't sure how to even begin to explain what was going on.

“Everyone in the conference room,” Hotch's voice rang out, from across the room.

*

Within half an hour, they boarded the jet to Texas, to advise, to the local police and SWAT, on a spree killer, who had already shot four people, three of them fatally, and were holding five more hostage, in a bank.

As usual, the team functioned fluidly together, bouncing vibrantly off one another with the smoothness of a tennis ball off a racket, sailing high over the centre court line. Within six hours, they had helped the negotiators talk the gunman into surrendering, without the further loss of lives.

To the casual onlooker, it would have looked as though the team was in perfect harmony. To a large extent, they were.

With one exception.

Morgan clearly could not help, even in his most frazzled of states, to be utterly professional, with his charisma flowing off him in palpable waves. He worked the case with his usual expertise but Spencer could sense that something was not quite right. It was rather subtle. Morgan was a little slow in reacting to new information coming in, and, alternatively, was a bit too quick to jump on potential false leads. A few times, Spencer caught him standing a little ways from the others, frowning to himself.

At the end of the day, when he invited the team to the pub, Spencer was surprised when no one took him up on the offer. Hotch, as usual, cited work. The rest of the team already had prior engagements.

“I'll go,” Spencer said.

For a moment, JJ shot him a relieved look. He realised that, at least, she was also aware that something was wrong with Morgan.

*

As soon as they arrived in the rather busy pub, Spencer felt anxiety twist his stomach. It was already too loud and too busy, for him to be comfortable. They found an empty booth in the far corner (already suspicious, Morgan generally liked to be in the centre of things) and Morgan left Spencer behind, stating that he'd be back, with drinks.

Spencer was quite certain that was the last he'd see of him.

However, within minutes, Morgan was back, a jug of beer, and two glasses, in hand. He poured the beverage then clinked their glasses together. Spencer frowned. He had driven Morgan to the pub and hence, for the first time, was the 'designated driver'. Just have to be careful how much I drink, he told himself.

Morgan started to talk about the case. Only, it didn't sound like him. It sounded like a person imitating his friend.

_I'm really not good at this._

“Morgan....What's wrong?”

_Yes, great, Spence. Really subtle._

Morgan shot him a startled look, then laughed.

“Knew I couldn't fool you.”

Spencer said nothing, simply waited.

The smile left Morgan's face.

“I've been keeping tabs. Another two boys have come forward to claim that Carl Buford molested them. They're suing the city of Chicago for not providing adequate protection .”

Spencer instantly felt his heart disappear into his stomach. Yes, he remembered Carl Buford.

“He's long dead, yet what he did still destroys people's lives. I'm not sure... how I feel about this,” Morgan took another gulp of beer. “A part of me thinks maybe he got off easy. A part of me hopes there's some justice in the afterlife,” he shook his head.

Spencer wasn't sure what to say. He thought about Hotch, about George Foyett, about the case they had today. One of the victims was a fourteen year old boy.

Spencer was surprised at how deeply he could always be cut, by the constant revelations of the horrors of the world.

“I'm sorry,” Spencer said.

Morgan looked at him, smiled that Derek Morgan special.

“Sometimes I'm astonished at how damned beautiful you are.”

Spencer recalled Hotch, merely the night before, expounding on his beauty, as he moved so tenderly within him.

Both Morgan and Spencer were silent a moment.

Morgan drained his cup.

“Toilet. I'll be back.”

Watching him go, Spencer started to hope that someone would talk to Morgan, try and pick him up. Allow the handsome man to forget his troubles, in the warmth of another's flesh. This was beyond him to deal with. But, if someone else were to take the pressure away from him-

No, he inwardly slapped himself. It was selfish of him to wish someone else to relieve the burden of Derek Morgan's traumatic past.

In that instant, his mobile flashed. He flicked off the screen saver, to reveal that a message had been sent.

Flicking it open, he realised it was from Hotch.

_Tired of this work. Wish I was there with you, instead. You at home?_

Spencer considered whether to tell him the truth. He started to type.

_Pub. With Morgan._

For a few seconds, he waited, heart beating a little quicker.

_Don't be too hungover tomorrow._

Spencer was quick to reply.

_Seriously doubt it. Thinking we'll leave soon._

Spencer waited for a reply. After a few minutes, it was clear that one wasn't coming. Derek came back and sat back down with him.

*

“We're here,” Spencer said,turning off his car ignition.

Derek, who had been resting in the passenger seat beside him, jolted awake.

“Oh?”

“You're home.”

Derek blinked a few times and looked around.

Come on, Derek, Spencer thought.

It had been a long night, in which Derek Morgan had flirted with every person at the bar, drank enough to drown a half a dozen sailors and courted attention on the dance floor, the entire time insisting that Spencer stay with him. It took all of Spencer's considerable powers to convince him to leave, whereupon he stumbled into Spencer's car and promptly fell asleep.

“My house,” Morgan grinned at him.

“Yep,” Spencer took off his belt.

“Pretty boy...” Morgan drawled, reaching for him.

“Morgan...” Spencer knocked his hand away.

“Pretty -pretty...” he reached for Spencer once more.

“Honestly, I'm not-”

Morgan suddenly grabbed him around the back of his head and pulled his head forward, pressing their lips together. In the past, this move would have guaranteed a very positive response from Spencer. Tonight, however he was not in the mood.

“Morgan stop it!” Spencer forcibly pushed him back.

“What's wrong?” Morgan asked.

“I'm tired. Honestly, we've both got work tomorrow. Just go inside and go to bed.”

“How about we don't go to work tomorrow? We stay in bed all day long,” Morgan said, suddenly placing a hand on Spencer’s knee.

Spencer knocked it off. “Go inside, Morgan.” He felt that it was to his credit that it didn't sound aggressive.

“I've been thinking about fucking you all night.”

_Why is he doing this?_

“I said no!”

Morgan reeled back, as though physically stung.

“Is this your game?”

“Excuse me?”

“Who next? Rossi?”

Spencer felt that he could guess what Morgan was implying, but thought that perhaps he didn't wish to.

He's drunk, he told himself. He doesn't know what he's saying.

Only, he suspected that this wasn't true. The alcohol was simply a lubricant to produce Morgan's true feelings.

“You know, it's pretty cruel, what you're doing.”

“What I-?”

“Cruel to both me and Hotch. Really didn't think you had it in you, kid.”

Spencer felt hot tears unexpectedly form at the corner of his eyelids.

_This is unfair. This is truly unfair._

The thought broke through the tears that fell down his face. He angrily brushed them aside.

“How am I being cruel? You're the one who didn't want anything other than casual!”

“Oh, so you and Hotch are an item now, is that it?”

“It's none of your business what I do!”

“It is when you're fucking me, and then turn around and start fucking someone else!”

“Don't treat me like I'm your whore!”

“What else do you call someone who's been sleeping with both his superior and his colleague? At the same time?”

For a moment, Spencer was so stunned that he'd actually said it, that he was unable to provide a response. He could see the anger deflate in the dark eyes, to be replaced with another, intangible emotion.

“Get the fuck out of my car!”

“Spencer, I'm so sorry that was-”

“Get the fuck out!” Spencer physically pushed Morgan, hard, in the chest. It was like hitting a brick wall.

“Alright,” Derek opened the car door. “I shouldn’t have said that. I was out of order.”

Spencer scowled and looked away.

“I'll leave.”

The car door slammed. Sensing light, out of the corner of his eyes, Spencer noticed that his mobile phone, lying on the console before the gear shift, was flashing. He flicked it on,to see another message, from Hotch.

_Finished! Time for a little nightcap, then blessed sleep. FYI. Jamieson whiskey._

Spencer was certain that it was meant to cause mirth. Instead, he felt numb.

*

Spencer felt rather anxious, coming into work the next day. Every time a new colleague entered the room, his heart spiked. As the morning wore on, it became apparent that Morgan wasn't coming in.

  
It was, for once, a rather fruitless day, of going through old cold case, attempting to find any more leads. Spencer found himself looking at the clock every few minutes.

By the time five o'clock ticked over, he was close to dropping asleep at his desk. He waved goodbye to the departing JJ and Garcia, as he fumbled with his satchel, then looked across the room, to where Hotch and Rossi were standing together, laughing.

_I'm no one's whore._

Hotch started to walk over to him, smiling.

“Glad to have a rather boring day of work,”

“Amen to that,” Rossi said. “Alright, Hotch. We need to be at the courts in forty minutes, where I am determined to seriously thrash you.”

Of course, Reid thought, bitterly. It wasn't as though he would be invited to Hotch and Rossi's weekly tennis match. It wasn't as though Hotch, like Morgan, treated him as anything more than his dirty little secret.

Spencer angrily swung the satchel over his shoulder, starting to walk away.

“Everything alright?” Rossi asked.

“Fine!” Spencer snapped.

“Yes, sounds like it...”

*

A few hours later, Spencer was in his apartment, reading Faulkner without concentrating on a single line, when he received a text message.

_Everything alright?_

It was Hotch.

He ignored it.

*

An hour after that, there was a knock on his apartment door.

_Morgan? Hotch?_

It turned out to be the latter.

“Hey, can I come in?”

Spencer shrugged, stepped away from the door.

“How was the tennis match?”

“Well, Rossi was wrong. I beat him, this time.”

“That's good,” Spencer said, collapsing down into his couch, as Hotch closed the door behind himself.

“What happened last night with Morgan?” Hotch said, gently, sitting opposite Spencer. “I know about Carl Buford. I already spoke to him, before you came in. Told him he could take the day off, if he wanted. He was determined to stay.”

“He got very drunk,” Spencer said. “Started flirting with everyone, dancing, the usual stuff.”

“And then?”

“I dropped him home.”

“But there was something else, wasn't there?”

Spencer found he couldn't reach his eyes. “He... tried to come onto me. I guess, I can't blame him. In the past, it would have worked. But when I rejected him, he...”

“He mentioned me, didn't he? Our relationship? Indulged in the proverbial 'slut-shaming'?”

Spencer flinched. He hated that term.

“Spencer, I'm certain that Morgan would be... overcome with remorse. I have suspected, for a while now, that he does have strong feelings for you but is unable to give you the kind of relationship that you deserve. That is why he feels threatened by us. He knows that I can give you what he can't.”

Spencer tried to sort through this new information. Derek had 'strong feelings' for him? Somehow, it didn't gel with what he knew of Derek Morgan.

“No, he's just annoyed that he no longer has his go-to person, for a one night stand.”

“We both know that Derek Morgan is not a bad man. We need to give him a pass, this time. I know it may be difficult. But he is going through a very tough time.”

“I know...”

Spencer bit down on the inside of the lip, feeling odd guilt twist his innards. He told himself that none of this was his fault.

“It's alright, hey,” Hotch started to rub his back.

*

“Spencer...” Hotch breathed into his ear. Spencer felt soft lips on his lobe, silky hands stroking his stomach his thighs, his penis, the hard movement within him. Tonight, he simply wasn't into it. Perhaps, he thought to himself, it was the fact that he'd been labelled a whore, the night before, simply for engaging in this. Perhaps it was apt. After all, didn't whores just lie and take it? Hotch's ragged breathing increased, his movements a little faster. Good, he'd finish soon and they could both sleep. He could feel Hotch's hand now on his erection, stroking. Reid appreciated the attempt but he suspected that even his own orgasm would be a disappointment, that night. Odd, as he was the one who initiated.

“You alright?”

“Mm...” Spencer moved a little, in time to Hotch's movements. He suddenly realised that Hotch had ceased moving. Hotch slowly pulled out, then eased Spencer onto his back, kissing down his chest, to take his penis into his mouth. Spencer closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, but all he could see, in his mind, was Morgan's flushed, angry face.

No, he was determined to enjoy this! He grabbed a handful of Hotch's dark hair,urging him to move faster. His superior did as he commanded. This was good, this was better. Hotch suddenly moved up his body, kissing him on the mouth, aggressive, his hands gripping hard onto his hips. Spencer moaned.

_Yes, yes better._

He guided his superior's hand to his erection, wrapping his legs around his waist. This time, the lovemaking was harder, faster. Spencer could not help the moans issuing from his lips.

_Almost there almost almost._

Hearing Hotch cry out caused his own, almost violent climax. He shuddered, thrusting harshly up and down, feeling Hotch's mouth on his neck, as he started to come down.

He then lay still a moment, sated, relaxed, still feeling soft lips on his neck, fingers in his hair.

Hotch tenderly removed himself and moved his weight off him, lying to one side, his arm slung around Spencer's waist, the other reaching over to switch off the bedside lamp.

“We should sleep. We have an early start tomorrow.”

“Mm...”

After a few minutes, he heard Hotch's breath become deep and even, in indication of sleep. Spencer continued to stay awake, staring up at the ill-defined ceiling, in the darkness.

Tbc...


	7. Chapter 7

Spencer secretly hoped that Morgan simply wouldn't turn up to work. He was quick to admit his own cowardice. The truth was that he didn't want to see him, to face up to the issues between them.

However, at precisely 7.58am, Morgan walked into the office and headed, with a singular, purposeful stride, straight towards where Spencer was bent over his own desk.

“Can we talk?” Morgan asked.

Spencer wanted to say no, to tell Morgan to leave him alone. As he stood up, to directly face the man, he could feel his own heart, pounding in his chest, his mouth dry of saliva.

Something in the supplicating look on the handsome face wavered his resolve.

“Alright,” he frowned, indicating an empty conference room, to their left. Not bothering to hide his irritation, he walked in front of Derek, looking back and noticing, with some impish glee, Morgan slightly curl in on himself, in a remorseful gesture.

They both moved into the room and Morgan shut the door, then turned to look at Spencer directly, his dark eyes burning into him.

“I want to apologise, for the way I acted the other night. I make no excuses for my behaviour. It was utterly unacceptable.”

“So you don't think I'm a _whore_ then?” It came, unbidden out of his lips, before the delete switch activated, in his mind.

Morgan actually winced. “No in the least! I'm so utterly ashamed of myself that I would call _anyone_ that word, least of all you.”

Spencer found himself starting to thaw under the other man's clear self-reproach and natural charm. He told himself to stand fast. He would not be swayed easily.

“I haven't been treating you well. I realise that now..” Morgan paused. “I just wanted to say that I know the cost of being with a colleague. I was with you because I genuinely wanted to be with you. It wasn't... a physical thing for me. At least not entirely.”

Spencer felt himself give way a little more, his hurt replaced by something else, a feeling of loss, of regret.

“I'm truly sorry that I hurt you,” Morgan said. “Alright, I'll-”

He turned, clearly intending to swiftly leave.

“Wait!” Spencer placed a hand on his arm, stilling his movement. “It's alright.”

“Really?” Morgan swung his head around, eyes meeting his.

“I forgive you.”

Morgan's smile was enough to light up the Eastern seaboard. Spencer felt a tiny thrill germinate within him, at the sight. 

*  
The case involved a serial killer who targeted prostitutes. It was clear that it wasn't going to be solved in one day. Hotch ordered the group to go to a local motel and sleep, before attacking the situation fresh, the following day.

Spencer found he was too keyed up, to follow Hotch's orders. He paced the floor of his motel room, indecisive as to whether to read or watch television. The case had not been an easy one, with many of the officers, seeming annoyed to even be working it. They seemed particularly incensed that the FBI had been called in. Rossi had even had a few words to two of the officers, who had complained about spending so much time on a case that involved 'the refuse of society'.

Spencer was always impressed at how often inhumanity extended far beyond the actual perpetrators they were looking into.

At least him Derek Morgan was back to being his usual cheery, charismatic self. Hotch was, as usual, stern and dedicated. Spencer asked himself why he kept comparing the two. He was with Hotch, wasn't he?

He looked at his watch.

3.20am.

Hotch was only a few doors up. Perhaps... should he...? Tempting. Very tempting.

The sudden knock on the door startled him. He smiled, ran a hand through his curls and strolled over, opening the door-

-And hoping that his disappointment didn't show, at JJ, standing at the other side.

“I saw the light on, when I went past and realised you couldn't sleep, either.”

Spencer stepped back, allowing her to come in, then closed the door behind her.

“I'm probably going to crash later,” JJ said, then smiled. “You were expecting someone else?” She paused. “How is Hotch?”

Spencer couldn't help but gape with surprise.

“Come on, Spence. I'm a profiler.”

“Who else knows?”

“Garcia. I'm pretty sure Rossi.”

“Garcia knows?”

“It's alright,” she placed a hand on his shoulder. “No one is judging you, here.”

Spencer pulled out a chair and slumped down into it.

JJ then sat on the edge of the bed, opposite him.

“We haven't been discussing it, if that's what you think. I just... noticed the way Hotch kept looking at you. Then he kept offering to drive you home. Suddenly, Hotch is incredibly happy, always smiling. Garcia came up to me, at one point and said you two make a cute couple. That was it, nothing more was said.”

“Hotch seems happy?” He recalled Morgan saying a similar thing, a few weeks back. Spencer didn't recall any change in his superior, whatsoever, at work. To Spencer, he was the same stern tacticianer he always was.

“Let’s not talk about me,” he smiled. “Let's talk about Will.”

“Oh, I'm always happy to talk about Will,” she grinned.

*  
In the end, the serial killer turned out to be a police officer; in particular, one of the two that Rossi had overheard complaining about 'society's refuse'. Spencer just wished that Rossi had make the leap earlier than midway through the third day. After the jet landed, Hotch had instantly offered to drive a rather fatigued, but happy to be back in Virginia, Spencer home.

In the first ten minutes of the ride, both were silent, lost in their own thoughts, about the case. Or, at least, that was what Spencer assumed Hotch was thinking about.

Spencer put his hand up against the vent, feeling the heating warm his flesh.

“Want me to turn it up?” Hotch said.

“It's alright,” He looked out the car window, watching another car zoom past, clearly breaking the speeding limit, by at least ten miles per hour.

At least they had a few days off. Spencer was looking forward to some alone time with Hotch. In the three days they'd investigated the case, Hotch had not initiated any intimacy whatsoever. Not even so much as a touch on the shoulder or back. Spencer understood not wanting to be obvious at work, but he missed the touch of his fingers, the warmth of his body. He looked at the hand, seated on the console between them and wondered whether to reach over and take it in his own.

“You alright?” Hotch asked.

Spencer noticed that he was pulling off the freeway.

“You're actually dropping me off at my apartment?” 

“It's been a very exhausting three days.”

Spencer said nothing, simply turned back to the window. They were silent all the way to his apartment. Hotch parked opposite and turned to him. Spencer braced himself. Had he done something wrong? Was this some odd punishment?

“Damn you're beautiful.” He felt soft fingers in his hair but didn’t want to turn, refused to let Hotch see the clear let-down in his eyes. Why did it matter that Hotch didn't want him to spend the night at his own house? They didn't have to do everything together.

He heard Hotch sigh, withdraw his hand. “I wanted to spend some time with Jack. He'll be dropped off tomorrow morning.”

“I understand,” Spencer said.

“It's difficult to find the time-”

“You don't need to explain,” he finally turned his head. Hotch's eyes looked very dark, in the moonlight, shining in through the front windscreen. He cupped Spencer's chin and leant in, brushing their lips together. The kiss deepened. Hotch moaned, reaching around to touch Spencer's hair. Spencer was the first to pull away. Strange how, after three days of craving Hotch's touch, he now simply wished to move away from him.

“I'll see you at work, I guess.”

“Spencer? Is everything-?”

Spencer forced a smile. “I'll see you later.” He quickly got out of the car and slammed the door.

*

Spencer checked his mobile one last time, before retiring to bed, feeling relief flood over him, at the signal that he'd received a message. He hurriedly flicked it open, intrigued as to how exactly Hotch would phrase his apology.

The message was from Morgan.

_Baseball practice tomorrow. 11am at our fave pitch. What do you say, pretty boy?_

Ignoring the distinct disappointment souring his stomach, Spencer replied straight away.

*  
“No, it's just you need to just...” Morgan broke up into laughter once more, seeming to find Spencer's increasing exasperation incredibly amusing.

“I don't understand!” Spencer said. “I can do this! You know I can!”

He swung and, once more, failed to connect the ball headed right towards the bat.

Morgan shook his head and walked towards him.

“You're choking, that's all. You've allowed your mind to take over, once more.” He moved behind Spencer, gripping his hip with one hand and the arm that was holding the bat, with the other.

“Just relax. It's like a dance. Swing back and move that waist,” his hand moved up to Spencer's waist. “Just a little. That's it.”

Spencer felt the hairs on his arms rise, felt the warmth and strength of the man's body behind his. He felt his stomach somersault as Morgan moved away.

“Alright, let's try again,” Derek quickly moved in front and pitched the ball, once more. Spencer thought about his waist, his hips, his arm movement. He swung, and made contact, smashing the ball straight forward.

It hit Morgan in the forehead.

“Derek!” Spencer rushed towards the fallen man. Something was wrong. Derek was now on his knees, shaking.

_Oh I've really hurt him! He's probably got a traumatic brain injury. Swelling and oedema. Concussion. Pressure on the brain-_

He reached Derek and knelt before him.

“Derek, let me-”

Derek looked up. He was, indeed, shaking-

-with laughter. He had also developed a nice egg, on top of his forehead.

“Nice one, pretty boy!” He laughed, giving Spencer a playful swat on his chest.

“Ok, we'd better stop, now. You could have serious-”

“Told you, you could do it!” He pushed him again, lightly, playfully.

“I'm worried you could be seriously hurt!”

“Who would be responsible for that, huh?” Derek laughed, suddenly grabbing Spencer and wrestling him to the ground.

“I'm not-”

Derek then started to tickle him, fingers lightly going for under his armpits, the sides of his ribs.

“Stop! Stop!” Spencer squarked with laughter, then started to get his own back, using his weight to push Morgan off, before launching into revenge tickling.

“Not gonna work, pretty boy. I'm not ticklish.”

“Everyone is ticklish somewhere,” Spencer was now seated astride him. “I'm going to find yours.”

He tried under the armpits, the ribcage, the stomach. Derek simply looked up to him with an infuriating smile. An infuriatingly gorgeous smile. Spencer suddenly realised that he wanted to kiss those plush lips. He could feel desire rise in him, almost overwhelming in nature. Confused, he rose up off Morgan and backed off. Derek sat up, still smiling.

“Alright, how about you practise some throwing?”

*

Morgan pulled up outside Spencer's apartment, turning to smile at him. Spencer had to admit, he had a great day, courtesy of one Derek Morgan.

 _It could go further.._.

Hotch doesn't have to know, he told himself, then instantly berated his traitorous desires.

“Thanks for a great day,” Morgan said.

“What have you got on, the rest of your time off?” Spencer asked, more than a little curious.

“Seeing mum tomorrow. Been a while.”

Spencer felt an arrow of guilt shoot through him. When had been the last time he'd seen his own mother? He was hesitant to recall.

“Alright, then... see you soon.”

“Let's do that again, some time.” Morgan said.

Spencer smiled. “I'd like that.”

It wasn't until he got out of the car, and was waking to his apartment block, that he switched on his mobile and realised he had missed a message from Hotch, inviting him over.

*

Hotch answered the door with such a genuine smile, that Spencer couldn't help but feel a sting of guilt at his earlier feelings of lust towards Derek Morgan. Hotch was wearing a simple grey shirt and jeans, his entire being emanating warmth, fun, pliability. Spencer was, as ever, amazed at the difference, from the suited man, he was used to seeing, at work.

“Come on in.”

“Spencer!” Jack came running up. “I've got a new superman figurine. Wanna see it?”

Spencer glanced at Hotch, who gave a slight nod of his head.

“Have you seen the new film yet?” Spencer said, as he followed Jack through the lounge room, to the hall.

“Oh yes, it's awesome.”

Spencer couldn't help but grin a little, at his enthusiasm.

“Dad says we're going to see the new Pixar-”

“We discussed this, Jack,” Hotch said, appearing behind them. “Only if Spencer here agrees.”

“You want to go to the movies?” Spencer said.

“Well, I thought it might be a nice night out,” Hotch said.

*

Although the animated movie was entertainingly cerebral, as well as emotionally mature, Spencer found it difficult to concentrate, too aware of the man seated next to him, pinching handfuls of his popcorn. When the film began, as they both reached for the popcorn together, Hotch's fingers slid over his own. Spencer considered this not to be an accident. About a quarter of the way through, he felt Hotch's warm hand lightly rest on his leg.

It remained there until the credits came up, at which point Jack started to enthusiastically clap.

*  
“It was just... awesome. I mean, really awesome,” Jack continued to wave his hands frantically about, almost knocking his sundae all over the formica table. Spencer couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. Feeling eyes on him, he looked across, to Hotch staring at him, a slight grin on his face.

“I agree. It's their best film in years,” Hotch diverted his attention back to his son. As the conversation about the film continued, Spencer dug into his own chocolate sundae and looked at Hotch, amazed at how different he looked, when the lines of tension and worry, always present at work, were gone from his face, when his mouth continually uplifted, rather than the constant thin line it usually upheld.

He's beautiful, Spencer thought, feeling a little pleasant tingle usurp his stomach muscles.

*  
“Alright, school tomorrow,” Hotch said, as soon as he closed the front door behind himself. “Time to get ready for bed.”

“Can't Spencer-”

“Sorry, kiddo. Those are the rules. You know that. Say goodnight to Spencer.”

“Goodnight Spencer,” Jack said, pouting.

“Night Jack.”

“Night dad.”

He turned, and veritably stomped out of the room. Hotch turned to Spencer and grinned, shaking his head.

“He really likes you,” he moved to the cabinet at the far end of the lounge room. Spencer followed, curious as to what he was doing. Hotch reached up high and took out a small key, from the top shelf, placing it in the lock of the glass cabinet below.

“I like him too,” Spencer admitted.

“Thanks for tonight,” Hotch said, opening the cabinet and taking out one of the red wine bottles inside, and placing it on the oak surface.

“I thought you wanted some time alone. I mean, it's fine-”

Hotch brought down two glasses from one of the shelves above the glass cabinet and put them down beside the wine bottle, before opening the bottle and pouring.

“Actually, Jack asked about you. I mentioned going to the film and Jack mentioned that you said something about Pixar films, last time you were over.”

“Oh...”

_So Jack asked. It's not as though you wanted me to come over._

Hotch handed him the glass of red.

“Of course, I would welcome you over, any time. But...” Hotch glanced at the door, leading to the hallway. “Like I said, Jack likes you. A lot. I just want to take it slow, in terms of introducing him to ...” He gestured between him and Spencer.

“I understand.” He was quite sure that he actually _did_ understand. Jack was, after all, the most important thing to Hotch. He thought about himself. Would he rush introducing Hotch to his mum? He knew, for a fact, that she would not judge him for being involved with a man. Even so, he still felt somewhat hesitant to tell other people. It was as though Hotch was a radiant jewel, that he wanted to preserve, all to himself.

Hotch walked past Spencer to the door separating them from the hall and locked it.

“I think he suspects something anyway. He's no fool.” Hotch said. He then moved to the couch and sat down, gesturing to Spencer to sit next to him. Spencer did as he bid. Hotch moved closer and slung his right arm around Spencer's shoulder, resting the other, holding the glass of wine, on his knee. Spencer leant into him, feeling content. Warm. Hotch started to play with the curls around his ear.

“What did you do today?”

Spencer considered whether or not to tell the truth. “Baseball practice. With Morgan.”

“So you two have made up. I'm glad. Did you have a good time?”

“I did,” Spencer admitted.

Hotch took a sip of his wine. Spencer followed suite. It tasted somewhat sweet. For a few long seconds, Hotch didn't speak. Spencer wondered if he was thinking about Morgan. Yes, that must be it. He probably knew that Spencer had lustful feelings towards him, that very day-

“You were probably wondering why I ignored you the past three days,” Hotch said. “It's simply that, I need to focus, all of my attention. And you are very good at distracting it.” Spencer felt his lips brush his hair. “It amazes me that you don't seem to notice how many people get distracted by you.”

“Oh yes, the socially inept genius-”

“No, it's because you're so beautiful, it's almost unreal.”

Spencer felt his face heat. “I don't think-”

“People feel intimidated by you.”

Spencer shook his head. “I don't think so, Hotch.”

“Yes,” Hotch placed his glass down and kissed the hollow of Spencer's neck. “Very... distracting.”

He cupped Spencer's face and started to ravage his mouth. Spencer moaned into the kiss, reaching around to move his fingers through Hotch's short hair strands.

This was much better. He'd been waiting for this for far too long-

There was a sudden, loud knock on the door, separating the lounge from the hall, followed by Jack's voice.

“Dad! Dad!”

Hotch groaned, pulled slightly away from Spencer to answer. “What is it, Jack?”

There was no denying the annoyance in his voice. Spencer couldn't help but giggle, a little.

“Can you come into my room? Please? There's a... spider.”

Grumbling under his breath, Hotch pulled away from Spencer.

“Of all times... sorry, fatherly issues to deal with.”

“It's fine,” Spencer said.

Hotch flashed him a genuine grin that he felt, from the tip of his fingertips to his groin, and kissed him on the lips, before getting up and walking to the door, unlocking it, then continuing into the hall.

Spencer smoothed down his clothing and picked up his glass, taking sips of the wine and tapping his knee with his spare hand, while he waited. He looked at the grandfather clock, that stood in the far corner of the room. One minute past. Then two. Then three.

_What is going on?_

Perhaps something was wrong. Should he go to Jack's room? What were the rules, here?

The door handle turned and Hotch reappeared. He stepped into the room, then closed the door behind himself, locking it, once more.

“Everything alright?”

Hotch waited until he'd sat back down on the couch next to Spencer and picked up his wineglass before replying.

“Apparently, the spider fell onto the bed. I managed to locate it and took it outside.”

“Oh... good.”

“There's more,” Hotch took a deep breath. “He asked about you. As in, he asked if you were my boyfriend. He said if you were, it was fine, because he liked you, a lot.”

Spencer felt his heart start to palpate, in his chest. “What did you say?”

Hotch smiled and put a hand on Spencer's knee. “I told him that you were very special to me. But I'd appreciate him not telling everyone. We're taking it slowly, in that sense.”

“Oh... wow...” Spencer admitted to feeling a little overwhelmed. “So he's actually... fine with us?”

“Kid's can be a lot more open and understanding than adults, when it comes to a lot of things. That's my experience.”

Spencer grinned and cupped Hotch's face, leaning forward to taste his mouth, once more.

Tbc...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning in this chapter for a disturbing conversation with an unsub, in which sexual torture and rape is discussed. Hotch's sexual assault is also discussed.

Sometime before sunrise, Spencer felt Hotch lightly shake his shoulder and whisper into his ear.

Their days off had been cut short. They had a case.

Spencer had then seen the change happen, gradually, all morning; from the moment Hotch awoke, and started nuzzling his neck, to watching the dark-haired man make breakfast for Jack, to both agents getting dressed, for work. Layer on layer started to form, from the at-ease warmth he'd come to know in Hotch's home life, to the cold, almost robot-like man at work.

Seated beside him in the car now, Spencer risked turning, from looking out the front window, to observe the man, himself. The professional cloak that he wore, covering his true nature, was obvious in the clenching of his jaw, the rigid stance. He looked down at the hand on top of the console between them and pondered whether or not to take it. How would 'work-Hotch' react? What if he didn't wish to hold his hand? Spencer tentatively reached across, looking at Hotch's stern expression. Feeling very tentative, he took the hand in his. Hotch didn't pull away.

“You really should have both hands on the steering wheel,” Spencer commented. “You're twenty-three percent more likely to have an accident with only one hand on the steering wheel.”

“Ok then,” Hotch moved his hand away and placed it on the wheel. Well, he couldn't say that he didn't deserve that one. Hotch momentarily took his hand off the wheel again and reached for Spencer, grasping his hair and lightly tugging it, a slight smile gracing his face, the work-wall momentarily breached.

“There's something I wanted to tell you,” Spencer said. He'd been thinking about this all morning, but had not come up with a significant reason to broach the topic.

“What's that?”

Spencer hesitated. _Just say it!_ “Our colleagues know about us. JJ told me. They've known for a while. They just didn't want to make us uncomfortable by letting _us_ know _they_ know.”

Hotch frowned. “I'd be disappointed if they didn't figure it out. Dave, of course, knew from the beginning. He gave me a big speech defending you.”

“Defending _me_?”

Again with the smile. “He told me that if I hurt you, I'd have to deal with him. And I wouldn't want that.”

“Wow... so Rossi really does like me...”

_And I thought he was loyal to Hotch._

“No, he utterly detests you, that's clear,” Hotch said with such a straight face that it took Spencer a moment to realise he was joking. “I told him that if I hurt you, I'd gladly hand myself over to him, for whatever punishment he deems fit.”

“Why would he say that you'd hurt me?”

“Because he underestimates my feelings. As well as your strength.”

“I'm not-”

“You are. A lot more than you think. I see it. Morgan definitely sees it.”

Spencer looked back out the window.

*

Spencer climbed into the SUV beside Rossi, clipping in his belt, as the older man pulled away from the kerb, to what would be undoubtedly another gruesome crime scene. The bodies of five young men, so far, had been found, within the space of two months. All showed signs of torture and sexual assault. The final two had been found within two weeks of each other.The perp was ramping up. This was never fruitful news.

Both Rossi and Spencer were quiet. For Spencer's part, he wanted to talk to Rossi about his conversation with Hotch. What did he mean, Hotch would hurt him? He wasn't sure how to bring it up.

“What's up? It's clear you want to ask me something,” Rossi finally spoke.

“You...” he frowned. “You're good friends with Hotch-”

“Ah...”

“What do you mean? Ah?”

“I was waiting for this question. Let me tell you a story. Do you remember last Christmas? You were Hotch's 'secret santa'?”

“Well, yes...” Spencer was dumbfounded as to where Rossi was going with this.

“You brought tickets for him and Jack to go to the circus, that was in town? Well, Hotch was utterly delighted. He'd been going through a tough time and was trying to come up with something for him and Jack to do, together. They went, and had a great time.”

“That's good to hear.” _Although I don't know where you're going with this._

“He kept wanting to know who the 'secret santa' was. Finally, I told him it was you. I saw him... looking at you differently, after that. I think after it was clear that Morgan was making a play, so to speak, he thought he may not get another chance. We talked about it, together. He wasn't sure whether it was the right thing to do. To be honest, neither did I.”

“You told him not to hurt me.”

“Look, I am aware that he had an interest in men, in the past. And even I can see that you are a very good looking man-”

There it was again. Spencer shook his head.

“But I was worried that he was... merely physically attracted to you. I don't think that any more.”

“You don't?”

“The only time I've ever seen Hotch this happy, was when he was happily married to Hailey.”

Spencer realised that he had no answer to that statement, apart from obvious denial. He simply wasn't noticing these aspects of Hotch that the others kept pointing out. Was he really that terrible a profiler? No, he was an excellent profiler, he told himself. Perhaps, it was simply harder to notice aspects of one's intimate partner.

Intimate partner. Two words Spencer didn't think would ever apply to him; particularly with the words 'Aaron Hotcher' following. Spencer internally shook his head.

*  
The main suspect turned out to be a truck driver, in his mid-thirties, by the name of Taylor Coleman,. They tracked him to an abandoned shack, surrounded by forest, thirty-five miles east of Helena, Montana. Hotch and Morgan came in from the front door with the SWAT team, Spencer and JJ by the back door. As the SWAT team broke down the back door and came barrelling into the house, shields raised, Spencer had expected gunfire, a struggle. Instead, Taylor simply stood up,from where he'd been sitting at the kitchen table, and put his hands behind his back, as instructed.

Now handcuffed, he turned and looked at the men and women surrounding him. He was rather nondescript looking. Brown eyes, brown hair. Slightly pudgy. A little short in stature. Spencer could sense an odd feeling of letdown, in the officers around him.

“I don't think the insurance company will cover SWAT home invasion,” the man quipped.

The SWAT men holding him said nothing, simply started to walk him out of the house, as Hotch started reading his Miranda rights. Spencer looked to JJ and nodded, in signal to leave, when Taylor suddenly stopped, staring straight at him.

“Who's _that_ pretty boy?”

“Keep going!” Morgan now stepped forward.

“I should have joined the FBI.”

“Keep moving!” Morgan said, anger clear, in his tone.

“We could have had a good time, pretty boy,” Taylor called out to Spencer, as he was hustled out of the house.

Spencer felt his face heat, an ugly feeling twisting his innards, at being singled out. The other agents, but for JJ, studiously avoided his eyes.

“Forget it, Spence,” JJ said. “Just ignore him.”

*

Spencer took another sip of his coffee, watching, through the one way glass, the interrogation taking place. Hotch and Taylor sat on either side of a small metal table, facing each other. So far, Taylor had managed to avoid detailing any aspects of the charges that he was being interrogated for. True to form as a narcissist, he refused to have a lawyer present, also.

“So, the night of the twenty-third, you were at the Swan Cafe, on Highland Street-”

Taylor fake yawned and turned his head, to look directly at the glass window. Although Spencer knew he would only be seeing a reflection of himself, he still had the distinct, disconcerting impression that he was looking directly at him.

“Would pretty boy be watching? Of course would be.”

“Forget about him, he's unimportant-”

“So, what's he like? How good a _fuck_ is he? I know you've had him.”

Hotch's pause was only momentary, but, in those milliseconds, Spencer could read the rage in the very subtle muscle spasm in his clenched jaw.

“Why the interest in my colleague? Does he remind you of someone?”

“He looks like he wants it rough.”

“You like it rough, don't you Taylor?”

Taylor smiled. “How about we play a game? I answer a question. And you answer a question.”

“Alright, but you have to answer truthfully.”

“Of course,” Taylor said. “Alright, I go first. What's the pretty boy's name?”

It's alright, Spencer thought. Just answer.

“Don't do it, Hotch,” Morgan murmured beside him.

“Spencer,” Hotch said.

“Alright, not so bad was it?”

“My turn. On the night of the twenty-third, you picked up Kevin Mcally in your truck, didn't you?”

“Sure, he was hitch-hiking. I decided to be accommodating. My turn. So, have you fucked the pretty boy?”

“I don't have relations with colleagues.”

“Liar!” Taylor shouted. “I was truthful to you! No, interview is over. I'm not saying any more-”

Spencer didn't even stop to think of consequences. He stood up and walked over to the door, leading to the interrogation room.

“Reid, no!” Morgan began.

Too late, he opened the door and stepped in. As soon as he moved, to stand beside Hotch, he noted the apprehension, in his eyes, which then quickly masked to their usual opaqueness.

“I figured, seeing as I was being talked about, I might as well come in.”

A sly smile came over the chubby face of the suspect. He looked Spencer up and down, in a way that made him suddenly wish to have a shower.

“You can go, Hotch. I'll continue the game,” Spencer said, deliberately forcing his spine to be erect.

“I don't think so,” Hotch said.

“You're a very brave young man,” Taylor said, to Spencer. “I'll be happy to continue the game with you. And only you.”

“It's alright,” Spencer placed a hand on Hotch's arm. He could feel the tremble of his muscles.

“If you try anything-” Hotch said, to Taylor.

Taylor laughed, and help up his handcuffed hands. “How? You've handcuffed me to the table here.”

With clear reluctance, Hotch stood up, and slowly made his way to the door. Spencer and Taylor watched him step out of the room. For his part, Spencer questioned whether he'd made the right decision, making Hotch leave.

“He _has_  fucked you, I can tell.”

“What's your question?” Spencer asked, deliberately quelling the anger, coupled with unease, rising in his body.

“Has he ever fucked you with anything other than his cock?”

Spencer felt his heart rate pick up. The first victim had been found with a wine bottle lodged up into his rectum. He deliberately looked down, not looking the man in the eyes.

_Get them talking. Direct the flow of conversation._

“I used... a bottle, once, on myself,” he lied.

“Christ, boy, you're getting me hard.”

Well, he definitely didn't need to hear that.

“My go. You ever use anything like that on anyone?”

“I've used a wine bottle. Dildos. Even a wrench, once.”

The final victim had been found with a blood laden wrench nearby.

_It's working._

“I like it rough. Like being tied up and taken hard. Until I bleed. I like to watch others, too, taking it.”

“Damn boy, you're gonna make me come in my pants.”

“You've done it, haven't you? You've brutally f-fucked someone?” The slight stutter showed his clear apprehension.

Taylor didn't seem to notice.

“You know what I did,” Taylor said. “Turn you on, did it?”

“Tell me what you did. Tell me how you had those men.”

*

Twenty minutes later, Spencer stepped out of the room, feeling rather light-headed and nauseous.

“You alright,” JJ said, lightly rubbing his shoulder. “You did an amazing job.”

“Well, I got the confession.”

“And the location of two more bodies. Really good work, Reid,” Rossi said, sounding genuinely impressed.

“Excuse me,” Spencer kept walking, straight past the main bull pen, to the toilets, where he just made it in time to the cubicle, to be sick into it. He shakily stood up, wiping his lips, then went to the sink and turned on the tap, splashing his face with water. The door banged open, and Morgan came rushing in.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“I'll be fine,” Spencer said.

“Spencer-” Morgan said, with such a fractured tone, that Spencer was forced to turn off the tap and look at him.

“It was an act, Morgan, to draw him out.”

Morgan glanced behind him. “Sometimes, when we were... I was maybe a bit rough-”

“No-”

“It sickens me to think-”

“Honestly, Morgan,” Spencer put up a hand to stop him. “I always, emphatically wanted to be with you. There was never a time that I wasn't utterly enthralled by what we were doing.”

From the sudden relaxed expression on his face, Morgan appeared convinced.

“Touche, pretty boy. Hey, that sick bastard stole my endearment.”

*  
For the first time, as everyone was saying their goodbyes, and walking to the office exit, Hotch declared that he was leaving, at the same time as everyone else.

“I'll finish the report at home,” he said, as he snapped his suitcase closed, then looked at Spencer pointedly. Spencer was sure he got the hint. He nodded and started to shrug on his coat, winding his scarf around his neck.

“Rossi, my man,” Morgan slung an arm around the other man's neck. “You and I are going to have a night out. I have already picked the venue.”

“As long as there are plenty of women and drinks, I'm all yours.”

Spencer watched them walk out together, a little perturbed that they didn't even think to ask him or Hotch. A part of him realised that they were probably deliberately leaving them alone, but it didn't matter. It would have been nice to have been asked, if only to turn them down.

He turned back to Hotch, who was now walking towards him.

“What's wrong?” Hotch asked.

Spencer wasn't even aware that he'd been frowning.

“What if I want to go out with Morgan and Rossi?”

“Do you want to go out with them?" Hotch now mirrored his frown.

“Well, no...”

Hotch said nothing, seeming to be waiting for him to finish.

“You seemed to assume that I'd want to come with you! So did they!”

Hotch appeared startled. “I'm sorry, Spencer. I would never wish to tell you what to do. I guess, I was just on auto-pilot. If you want to have a night out with any colleague, then certainly, I'd be happy for you to go. Or, for us to both go. Whatever you want.”

“Maybe, next time. We could both go out, with the others.”

“Sure, whatever you want to do, is fine with me.”

However, something was not quite right. He could see an unnamed emotion floating around the edge of the dark irises.

*  
Hotch didn't say any more, until they were on the freeway.

“Would you like to stay at mine, tonight?”

Spencer thought it was kind of him to ask, even when the answer was obvious. “Sure.”

Hotch was silent a long moment. “You were very brave today.”

“I was just doing my job.”

“Are you sure you're alright?”

“I've heard worse. I guess I just... adopted a character.”

“The things he was saying to you...”

 _Ah!_ Spencer internally whacked himself.

“I was in control. He wasn't exactly... pleasant, to be around. But it was ok, Hotch.”

Again, with the twitch of his left jaw.

“Hey...” Spencer reached across and touched his shoulder. Hotch remained tense. “Hey...” He started to rub his shoulder.

“I didn't want to see you do that. I know, you did what you had to. As your superior, I respect that you did a fantastic job. As your boyfriend...”

Spencer twitched a smile, at Hotch referring to him as his 'boyfriend'.

“I wanted to go in there and smack him in the face, as illogical as it sounds. I don't condone violence. With what he did, how he twisted what we have...”

Spencer was surprised at Hotch's sudden openness.

“I know that is how they operate. They're very good at what they do.” Hotch shook his head. “I knew, as soon as he saw you that he would say something.”

“I was his type. Unfortunately. But then, I guess you could say it was fortunate I could use it to my advantage.”

“You did your job, you're right. I was the one who couldn't stay professional.”

“You were fine,” Spencer said.

The vehicle pulled off the freeway.

“Don't worry, Hotch. Honestly, it was fine. You were fine.”

Hotch was silent, until he pulled into the driveway of his house. He turned off the ignition, and stared forward, seeming deep in thought.

“Maybe we should... slow down a bit.”

Spencer felt a sour taste enter his mouth. “What do you mean?”

“I'm sorry. I'll... I'll drive you home.”

“Why? What did I do?”

“Nothing!”

“I don't understand. If you think I should have gone about getting the confession in a different way-”

“No, you were great. Very professional.”

“No,I must have done something wrong-”

“You've done nothing wrong!”

“I didn't enjoy getting the confession! Afterwards, I vomited, in the toilet. He made me feel shaky all over. Hearing him gloat about what he did to the victims. And it made it worse, that he was clearly aroused by what he was saying. And him talking about what he would do to me, given the chance-”

“I'm sorry he made you feel that way, truly.” Hotch reached out and placed a hand on the side of his face. “You were so good. You didn't let it show. So in control.”

Spencer knocked his hand away. “Then what....?”

Hotch continued to look forward, expression oddly impassive but for his eyes. An unnamed emotion swirled around irises.

“Fine! Don't bother driving me home. I'll take a taxi.” He got out of the car, slamming the door, and started to walk towards the main road, taking his mobile out of his satchel.

“Spencer!” Hotch called out behind him. Spencer determinedly ignored him, pressing the number for the taxi company into his mobile and placing it to his ear.

“Spencer, please-” Hotch placed a hand on his shoulder. “Please, I'm sorry.”

Spencer switched off the mobile and looked at him directly.

“Can we come inside and talk? Please, it's cold out here.”

*

Spencer declined the glass of wine, offered by Hotch. He poured himself a glass, then sat down, next to the lanky genius.

“I always tried so hard to compartmentalise. Work was work. Home was... different. It worked, for a while. With Hailey... it's been years. But, sometimes, I still think I smell her perfume. I learnt to somehow... accommodate her death, with the rest of my life. But it never goes away. Not entirely.”

Spencer nodded, thought about Maeve, felt that pain, blunter but still present; a butter knife, over the scythe it once was.

“I knew it would be difficult, being with a colleague. But, I really want this to work. Not just because you're so incredibly beautiful to look at or a genius, or kooky and funny. But because..” He reached out and took Spencer's hand. “There's a strength to you, that you don't even see. Even with all your social awkwardness, you seem to understand me.”

Spencer's mind went to Rossi talking about the zoo tickets. At the time, he'd barely given it a second thought. He had simply seen them advertised cheaply and had thought they'd make a fun present.

“The rage I felt towards that man and what he was saying to you, how he was threatening you... What I did to the Reaper... I never want to feel that rage again.”

“I'm the first man you’ve been intimate with, since the Reaper raped you. It's understandable that it would bring up such past traumas-”

“I understand the psychology,” Hotch said. “Today, the suspect threatening to rape _you_ , clearly triggered _me_."

“I know you got psychiatric help, to talk about what happened with Hailey's death. But you never got any help about being raped, did you? I know it was years ago, but it's clearly still not resolved. I think you tried to compartmentalize. But it's not working. Not entirely.”

“He wanted absolute control and domination over me-”

“Getting help is about gaining control and domination back! A trauma might have happened ten years ago, twenty years ago! Do you want me to give you the statistics on world war two vets with PTSD, who only had it recognised thirty or forty years after the war? Look, I understand. I'm the first one to be in denial about needing help, myself. But, it's easier to see it in other people. And I see it in you. You're extremely good at putting on a calm, in-control facade. And, to some extent, you are. But, if you're truly fearful of that rage, then you need to talk to someone about the rape.” 

Spencer stopped, amazed at what he had just said. It had suddenly just come out, in a tsunami of emotion.

Hotch let out a deep breath. “You're right. I will. I just... I guess I didn't want to accept that it could happen to me. If the thought came to my head abut the rape, I would just tell myself that it didn't happen to me. After awhile, I almost started to believe that it _didn't_ happen to me.”

“Well, I totally understand not wanting to face up to what must have been a truly degrading, horrifying experience.”

Hotch gave Spencer a look of such vulnerability, it made his heart break a little. He bent over and kissed Spencer on the lips, then pulled away, unsure. “With Morgan, did you ever... sexually penetrate him?”

“Why does it matter?” Spencer asked, sudden anger leaping out of his body.

“I'm not ready... yet. But one day, I would like you to make love to me. I know I've said this before. But I really mean it-”

“There's no rush,” Spencer said, feeling instant guilt at allowing his anger to come to the forefront of his emotions.

“I really want to make love to you, now,” Hotch said, trailing a hand up and down his inner thigh. “But I don't want you to feel that _I'm_ always the one making love to _you_.”

“Believe me, I'm not complaining, whatsoever,” Spencer smiled, then moved backwards, until he was lying down on the couch. “Make love to me right here.”

Hotch was, as ever, gentle and considerate, as he made good on Spencer's order.

Tbc...


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who are reading/reviewing/kudo'ing. Sexy sexy times in this one :)

Spencer sighed contentedly, arching back into the warmth of the strong, supple body behind his own. Hotch's hand drew lazy circles on his back. The other was wrapped around his waist, tenderly stroking his stomach. Spencer could still feel the saliva, sweat and semen from their lovemaking, in his mind defining him as being the intimate partner of Hotch.

“I've been thinking...” Hotch began.

“Did it hurt? Thinking?”

“Like a knife going into my skull,” he answered, deadpan. “I was thinking we could sleep here, on this sofa. It actually folds out, into a sofa bed. I'll turn on the wood-fire heater. It will be nice.”

Spencer eyed the sooty looking indoor heater, positioned in the corner of the room, with suspicion.

“How long will it take?”

“With my amazing fire making skills? About ten minutes.”

“Mm...” Spencer shivered a little, moving further backwards into Hotch's embrace.

“Give me a few secs.”

Spencer gasped, when Hotch jumped off the couch, ceasing his soothing body warmth. He watched Hotch's bare butt, as he sped naked down the hall. The dark-haired man was back within seconds, with two pillows and the vast quilt from his bed.

“You're really serious abut this, aren't you?” Spencer said, reluctantly standing. “Cold!”

“It won't be, for long,” Hotch said, wrapping the quilt around him, before taking the cushions off the couch.

“They'll need a wash,” Spencer said.

“The cushion covers come off. No problem. I'll wash them tomorrow.” Hotch said, bringing the metal base of the sofa bed out. A rather thin looking mattress sat on top. Spencer gingerly climbed on top. Hotch then threw both pillows and the quilt on his body, as he crawled around, endeavouring to find the best spot to lie down on. It wasn't exactly the most comfortable of beds. Hotch grabbed a couple of logs, from the wood box next to the wood-fire heater, opened the door and started rearranging the logs inside.

Finally, somewhat content with his sleeping position, Spencer started watching him. When Hotch had said he was 'thinking', Spencer's mind had immediately gone to him requesting something vividly sexual. After all, when he was with Morgan 'I was thinking' usually then led to some unique sexual position or antic. Certainly, Morgan had always made certain that he was a hundred percent agreeable to every frisky shenanigan that he thought up. Even so, thinking of it now, as he watched Hotch start to wrap fire-lighters in sheets of newspaper, and nestle them amongst the bits of wood and kindling that he'd arranged, he couldn't help but feel a little... ashamed. He wasn't even sure why. Surely, it was his right to do whatever he wanted, sexually, wasn't it?

Hotch lit the fire and closed the door of the wood heater, then came back to Spencer and climbed in behind him, spooning up to him.

“It will be really toasty, in about ten minutes, you'll see. It will really heat up.”

“Mm... you're toasty...” Spencer said.

“I just hope we don't get _that_ call. I need at least a day off.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Spencer watched the flames start to dance around the edges of the piled logs.

“What's on your mind?” Hotch asked. “I can sense that immense brain working.”

Spencer considered what to say. He certainly knew it was not prudent to bring up that he had been thinking of the kind of sexual hijinks he got up to, with Derek Morgan.

“It's ok,” Hotch kissed his upper left back. “You're allowed to keep some secrets from me. If you don't want to tell me, that's fine.”

“Nothing, really. Well not anything particularly important.”

“Mm...” He felt soft kisses on the back of the neck.

Spencer didn’t think that he'd be able to sleep, on such an uncomfortable mattress. He could veritably feel the springs digging into his back.

_This is impossible! What was Hotch thinking? I guess he thought it was romantic...as in romantic like a flower is romantic? Huh? Where did that come from? Roses...roses like purple... purple..._

Within a few minutes, his mind coasted off to the realm of sleep.

*  
“No, please, no!”

Spencer sprang up, instantly turning to the gasping, thrashing man beside him.

“Hotch!”

“Stop, please!”

“Hotch, it's ok!” He leant over and started to lightly stroke his hair. “It's alright. You're having a nightmare.”

Hotch opened his eyes, and sat up, still panting. For a moment, he looked around himself, then caught Spencer's eyes.

“Spencer...” He reached over and switched on the small lamp, on the table beside the lounge chair.

“You alright?” Spencer asked.

Hotch responded by cupping his face, leaning in and brushing his their lips together.

“Better,” Hotch pulled away, grinning.

“You want to talk about it?”

Hotch lay back down, reaching across to switch off the lamp, giving Spencer his answer.

*

Bright light hit his eyelids. Spencer moaned, pulling the covers over his head. Laughter sounded above himself.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

Spencer pulled the covers down, taking a moment to adjust his vision. Judging by the light, streaming in from the now open blinds, it was mid-morning, at least. Hotch sat at the edge of the couch, dressed in jeans and a long sleeved white jumper.

“I'm making bacon and eggs.”

“What time is it?”

“Just past eleven.”

Spencer sat up. “I slept in. I'm so sorry. How long have you been up?”

“About an hour. It's ok. You looked so peaceful asleep. Looked like you needed it. Want some coffee?”

Spencer went to throw the quilt off. Hotch reached down and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Stay there. I'll be back in a moment.”

Shrugging, Spencer pulled the covers back over himself, then grinned. Though the fire had died down to a low smoulder, the room was still toasty warm. A few minutes later, Hotch reappeared, with a tray of food. Spencer sat up, on the bed, taking the tray off him. Hotch left the room and soon came back with another tray of food, and a pot of coffee. Hotch placed the tray on the floor and climbed onto the bed beside him, before picking up the tray again, and settling it on his lap.

Both ate in silence a few minutes. Spencer was, as ever, impressed by Hotch's cooking abilities. He'd added a rather tangy sauce to the eggs, which went well with the bacon.

“I made a few phone calls this morning,” Hotch said. “I have a session booked in two days time with Dr. Laura Flannigan. I've spoken to her before, she's very good.”

“That's great, Hotch. I'm happy for you. It's a good start.”

Hotch finished his plate and picked up the pot of coffee, gently pouring himself a cup.

“Want one?”

“Sure, just give me a couple of minutes.”

“Well, there's plenty of sugar for you, too,” Hotch smiled, gesturing to the sugar container. “I thought... it's up to you... I had this idea we could go on a bit of a road trip today.”

“Anywhere in particular, in mind?” Spencer lifted up the last of the bacon and placed it into his mouth. Hotch took the plate off him, and put it on the floor on top of his own, before pouring him a cup of coffee and handing it to him, along with the sugar

“Well I haven't been to New York, for pleasure, for a while.”

_What is he talking about?_

“New York? Well, if we left from here, it would take approximately four hours and fifteen minutes. That's just one way. If we do get called in to a job tomorrow-”

“Long way back, won't it be?” Hotch was smiling. Spencer wasn't even sure why.

“But, seriously, Hotch. It's already past eleven! By the time we get there, we'll only have a few hours until we'd presumably have to turn around and drive back.”

“Have you ever been on a road trip before? The fun is in the travel to and from the place, not the place itself. Look, we don't have to go, I just thought it would be... different.”

_Different, alright._

“Maybe, some other day. If we get up early.”

“That's ok,” Hotch said but Spencer could see that he was clearly disappointed.

“How about, one day, with Jack, we could all go together.”

Hotch's smile seemed to brighten up the already somewhat sunny room. “Now, that does sound like a good plan.”

Spencer took a sip of his coffee, still feeling a twinge of guilt about passing on Hotch's road trip idea. Clearly, Hotch wanted to do something exciting, that day, something that one would never think to do.

_Alright, so what's something we could do then?_

“How about we book a five star hotel room and use all of the facilities, tonight? We'll go in the sauna, the spa. Book a very nice dinner. It can be one closish to home, so we can go to work, if we get called.”

“Now, that does sound like a great plan! Let's do that!” Hotch said, looking so beautiful in his enthusiasm, that Spencer instantly reacted in a rather carnal way. There was something else he wanted to do, before embarking on any adventure that day. He placed his coffee on the ground, then hungrily reached for the other man.

*

“Enjoy your stay," the woman behind the reception desk said.

“Thank you,” Hotch said, placing his credit card back in his wallet. Spencer turned back and grinned at him, already headed for the elevator.

Lying on the outskirts of Alexandria, the disarming red bricked exterior of the hotel, gave no lie to the rustic charm of the interior. The room, itself, appeared clean but simple, sporting a large, king sized bed with a floral bedspread, a writing desk, block mounted LCD television on the wall, a long bench with fridge underneath and a small table with two chairs. The bathroom, likewise merely consisted of the toilet, shower, sink and usual commodities, including two black bathrobes, with the hotel insignia stapled on the breast. Hotch went straight to the window and pulled the slash on the red velvet curtains, opening them to the vista below.

“Well, that is some view.”

Reid walked over to stand beside him. Being on the seventh floor, the windows did, indeed, yield a lovely view of the quaint town. Hotch placed an arm around his waist and kissed his neck, before moving away, and unzipping his case, sitting on the bed, rummaging through his clothes.

“I'm going to change into my boardshorts. I think a trip to the indoor jacuzzi is first on the agenda.”

Spencer turned to face him. He now stood, just before the bathroom door, looking inside.

“I say we steal these robes, before we leave. A memento of our trip.”

Spencer gasped. “We can't do that! We'll get in trouble!”

A half-smirk appeared on the side of Hotch's face. “Will we?”

As he went into the bathroom, Spencer moved to stand by the bed, still shaking his head at yet another facet of Hotch he'd never been apprised of. He wondered how many items Hotch had taken from hotel rooms, over the years.

*

Soothing warm bubbles caressed his tired muscles. He should have felt utterly content. After all, he was in a jacuzzi, in a five star hotel, with a man he'd wanted for many years. A man who had made love to him that morning, who'd most probably make love to him again later.

_What's wrong with me?_

“This is just wonderful! Great idea, Spencer,” Hotch had his head thrown back, his arms outstretched, along the sides of the jacuzzi.

After a few minutes, Hotch pulled his head up and grinned at Spencer, moving across, to kiss him on the lips.

“It's only fair,” he said, running a hand through Spencer's hair, “to tell you-” kisses peppered on Spencer's jaw- “-how adorable-”

“Well, look at this!” The voice came into the room so suddenly, that Spencer jumped, a little spooked. He turned around, to two middle-aged men entering the room. “Bunch of fucking faggots!”

Hotch sighed. “Come on, Spencer, let's go.”

“Yes, please go,” said the large of the two men. “Wouldn't want any of your faggy germs to get on us. Might be catching.”

The other man laughed.

Hotch climbed out of the jacuzzi.

“It's fucking disgusting!” the larger man said.

“Can I ask, what particularly do you have a problem with?” Spencer asked, genuinely curious, as he climbed out of the jacuzzi, to confront the men directly.

“It's fucking unnatural, is what it is!”

“Spencer-” Hotch began.

“But, it's _very_ natural. Many species of animals have exhibited gay tendencies. In particular-”

“Fuck that, it's in the bible, man lays with another man-"

“Ah, Leviticus! Leviticus also forbids clothing made of more than one fabric, more than one type of grain harvested in the same field-” Spencer said, admitting to some amusement at the growing anger in the man's small hazel eyes.

“Think you're smart, faggot?”

“Come on, Spencer. It's not worth it. They're not worth it,” Hotch said, handing him his robe.

“But their argument is illogical!” Spencer said, pulling the robe on and doing up the sash.

“Yes, it is,” Hotch looked at the men with pure disgust. “But I don't want to waste my time arguing logic with these people.”

At this, the two men blew up, shouting abuse. Hotch grabbed Spencer by the arm and pulled him away from them.

*

Spencer was glad that he'd brought a thick coat, scarf and gloves, to the hotel. The quite frigid wind was whipping up the red maple leaves, littering the path on which they were walking, into quite a frenzy. After the jacuzzi incident, they'd gone to the room to change, before exploring the town. As they passed the local park, Hotch had been keen to go inside. Spencer was not exactly keen on parks but was more than happy to oblige his boyfriend. He would admit, reluctantly, that the area was technically rather aesthetically pleasing, with towering red maple trees lining the winding path, intermixed with the occasional Chinese and Northern red elm. The grass, bordering the path, yielded bright yellow, purple and pink flowers, overall creating a rather pretty colour palette.

“Cold?” Hotch asked. He was also wearing a thick coat, but no gloves or scarf.

“A little.”

Hotch placed an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer, as they continued to walk. Spencer flinched, a little, thinking about the men from earlier.

“Those men are not even worth your thoughts,” Hotch said.

“It's not fair. They had no right to treat us that way.”

“No, they didn't. But you and I both know the terrible ways people can treat each other.”

“I know... I just, I wanted to have a good time.”

“And we are, aren't we?”

In the not too far foreground, Spencer 's ears started to pick up on a trumpet, playing.

“Sounding good,” Hotch said. “Come on.” He walked them along faster.

Around the bend, an elderly busker, in a dusty but elegant suit, was playing the trumpet. Hotch stopped in front of him and watched, seemingly mesmerised. Spencer could appreciate the technical genius of the playing, but he had never been much of a jazz fan. Besides, he was concentrating a little too much on the fact, that, as soon as Hotch saw the busker, he suddenly let go of him and moved forward.

“Bravo!” Hotch clapped, once the man had finished, then stepped forward and put some money into the man's tin, at his feet. “Do you do requests?”

“Depends,” said the man. He had a deep, gravelly voice.

“Miles Davis?”

The man laughed. “Sure thing!”

As the man started to let rip on the trumpet, once more, Spencer felt a cold drop hit his hand. Hotch came and stood behind him, placing both arms around his waist, and his head on his shoulder. Another drop hit Spencer on the face. He briefly looked up, at the darkened skies.

The busker stopped playing, and Hotch let go of Spencer, to clap, before coming forward, and giving him a note.

“Oh, man that is too much! Thank you.”

“No, thank you. You have real talent,” Hotch said.

“Thank you, have a lovely day.”

“You too!” Hotch came back to Spencer and placed his arm around his waist, moving them forward, once more.

“What was that about?” Spencer asked, as more drops hit him on the head.

“Looks like it's really going to come down!” Hotch said.

Suddenly, like a torrent, the rain came, instantly drenching them. Spencer felt as though he'd been doused in a bucket of water.

“We'd better-”

“We're already wet!” Spencer said, laughing. He then pulled away from Hotch and started to do a funky little dance. Hotch then started laughing, himself, grabbed Spencer's hands and spun him around. Around and around they went, reminding Spencer of the ring-a-rosie song. He found himself laughing, from the pure exhilaration of it all, then leant forward and started passionately kissing Hotch, on the mouth.

“Let's go back to the hotel room,” Hotch said quietly, seductively.

*

“I bagsie shower first!” Spencer said, rushing to the bathroom, as soon as they entered the hotel room. He switched out of his clothes in record time and turned on the water, swiftly manipulating the taps to the correct temperature, before climbing inside. The warmth permeated his cold skin, effecting a pleasured sigh, from his lips. He closed his eyes and moved his head, so that his face could enjoy the lovely water treatment. Footsteps sounded into the room. Spencer opened his eyes, to Hotch stripping off before him.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

Watching the gradual reveal of flesh, Spencer stammered a 'yes'. Hotch removed his shirt, revealing the scars, where George Foyett had stabbed him. As Hotch slid his trousers and boxers, down and off, then slid naked into the shower with Spencer, he tried to avoid looking at the scars. Though Spencer only thought that they added to the beauty of the man before him, he was aware that Hotch was understandably ashamed of them. When making love, Spencer often longed to touch his chest and stomach, to run his fingers over the scars, to worship them as the part of Hotch's beautiful body that they were.

One day, the thought, then admonished himself for such thoughts.

Hotch brought their lips together, hands freely moving over Spencer's flesh. He pulled back, pressing shampoo into his hands, from the wall dispenser.

“May I?”

Spencer shrugged, becoming startled, when Hotch started rubbing the shampoo into his hair. He had assumed that Hotch wanted to wash his own hair. Hotch's fingers were light and dexterous, sending thrills of pleasure through his scalp.

“Mmm.... feels good.”

“All done...”

Spencer brought his head back and allowed the water to spill down his hair, washing the shampoo off. He felt Hotch's hands on his body once more, this time clearly soaped up. The hands lazily explored; his chest, his arms, his thighs, finally, the part of himself that was paying attention. Spencer gasped, pulling Hotch to him and kissing him hard on the mouth, as one hand particularly focused on that one area, while the other started to explore his body. Spencer's own hands started exploring. Hotch abandoned his mouth for his neck, kissing down to his adam's apple. Spencer found himself panting, as pleasure crested through him. It was too much, it was going to be over, before it had barely begun. He put his hand on Hotch's to cease.

“I'm about to-”

Hotch ceased stroking. Instead, he slid down to his knees, and took Spencer into his mouth, bobbing his head frantically up and down. Spencer reached down and placed a hand on the back of his neck, running his palm down his back, feeling himself reach the crescendo and fall right over it. As he gradually came down, he saw Hotch spit his come into the sink, before standing up. Spencer could see that he was clearly still erect.

“Allow me,” he grinned, reaching for his erection.

“Let's go into the other room,” Hotch said.

“Ok,” Spencer started to follow, then noted that the blinds were still open. They were on an upper level floor, however, he still felt somewhat self-conscious.

“Can you close the blinds?” He asked. Hotch dutifully went to the blinds and closed them. Spencer stepped out of the bathroom and lay naked on the bed. Although he had made love to both Hotch and Morgan dozens of times, he still felt somewhat self-conscious about his body. Particularly, when they looked down upon him with such eagerness in their eyes, as Hotch was enacting now. He crawled onto the bed, over Spencer.

“It amazes me that you don't see how utterly beautiful you are.” Hotch said, then leant down and started kissing him on the face; across the forehead, down the bridge of his nose, across his left then right cheeks, on his chin, on his lips.

“I want to kiss every part of your body,” Hotch said, then started to make good on that promise; Spencer's neck, his clavicle, his left, then right arms, hands, fingers.

“Such delicate fingers...”

His chest; with particular attention to his nipples, down his stomach, his hips. By now, he was achingly erect again. Hotch then paid a fair amount of needed attention to his penis, kissing up, then down the shaft, before engulfing it all into his mouth. Spencer groaned, eagerly lifting his hips up and down in time with the movement. Hotch then, unexpectedly, took his mouth off and started to kiss all over his left then right thigh, his left, then right knee, his left then right lower leg. He lifted first his left foot.

“I've never been the fan of feet. Good for practicality but not much else. However, this is a very superb foot,” kisses all over the foot, including each individual toe. “So is this one,” the same attention paid to the right foot.

“Make love to me,” Spencer pleaded. “Please...need you”

Hotch reached for the lube, kissing up Spencer's thigh, as he took time preparing him. Spencer spread his legs, urging Hotch into him. As he was accustomed to, the lovemaking was slow, gentle. Spencer kissed his neck, running his hands over his back. It wasn't going to last long, he was too overwhelmed by the reverence that Hotch had paid his body. Spencer started to move, in time with Hotch's movements. Finally, he was unable to hold on any longer. He threw his head back and moaned, loudly, reaching a climax so hard that he thrust viciously up and down, taking a good few seconds to come down. As he did, he watched as Hotch threw his own head back and cried out, as Spencer felt the warmth of his seed fill him. Hotch then collapsed on top of him, panting.

“That was... that was something...” Hotch said, still clearly out of breath.

“Agreed!” Spencer laughed.

*

After a somewhat disappointing chicken terriyaki, followed by much more appetising chocolate mousse, Spencer and Hotch were finishing off the bottle of champagne. For his part, Spencer was aware that the alcohol had taken away his inhibitions, leading to his overly chatty state. He supposed he should be a bit more reticent but, ironically, because of the alcohol, he didn’t' care.

“As a profiler, I can, to some extent, understand their actions. They didn't understand me. I was the abnormal one. I guess it frustrated them-”

“I deeply respect you finding some empathy for the ones who bullied you,” Hotch said, gently. “To me, it's also clear that you are still... hurt by what they did.”

“School was a long time ago...” Spencer shrugged, attempting, with little success, to hide his unease. He picked up his glass and took a gulp. Hotch reached across and touched his hand.

“It's ok to feel angry about them hurting you,” Hotch said.

“I know...”

“They shouldn’t have hit you, belittled you, teased you.”

Spencer forced an uplift of his lips. “Tied me to the school goal posts.”

Hotch withdrew his hand and took a gulp of his champagne. “What do you know of my childhood?”

Spencer shook his head.

“My parents were both alcoholics. My father had a very violent temper. I often bore the brunt of it.”

“I'm so sorry,” Spencer wanted to reach across and pull him into his embrace, crowded restaurant be damned.

“I'd often come to school with an interesting array of bruises. Then there was the time he broke my arm. The teachers never said a thing.”

“That's so wrong!” Spencer said, a little too loudly.

A half smile that didn't reach his eyes, twisted Hotch's lips.

“I tried so hard to be perfect for them. It took me a long time to realise that no matter how many A level report cards I brought home, the beatings were going to continue. Because it had nothing to do with me and everything to do with them. I decided that when I would do everything in my power, to be the kind of person that stopped people like them from hurting any more people.”

Overcome with emotion, Spencer suddenly blurted out “I love you” before he could stop himself.

A look of absolute shock came over the handsome face before him, before a smile graced it that was so radiant that Spencer couldn't help but smile back.

“Let's pay the bill and go back to the hotel room.”

*

In the elevator, headed back to the hotel room, Spencer felt an odd anxiety twist his stomach. He started twitching his fingers. Hotch undoubtedly wanted to make love. He wasn't sure if he would be able to. The alcohol had made him fatigued and a little nauseous. Would Hotch be disappointed, if he turned him down? Perhaps it was cruel of him, to spoil what had been a lovely day.

They walked silently down the hall, before Hotch placed the card in the lock and opened the door to the hotel room, stepping inside. Spencer stepped in beside him.

No, Hotch always gave so much to him. It would be cruel of him to not give a little back. He leant forward and pressed Hotch back against the now closed door, pressing their lips together. Hotch pulled away, slightly.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing, don't you want to make love?”

“You seem... apprehensive...” He gently ran a hand down Spencer's face. “Do _you_ want to make love?”

“I want you to be happy.”

A look of serious consternation overcame Hotch's face and he gently disentangled himself from Spencer’s reach, stepping over and sitting down on the bed.

“What have I done?” Spencer asked.

“What would make me happy, is for you to tell the truth. Are you truly up for relations, right now?”

“I'm a rather tired, but I thought-”

“Thought what?” Hotch snapped.

“I wanted to give myself to you. I thought, if you wanted to be intimate, I could make the effort.”

“Spencer,” Hotch shook his head. “Why would I want to be intimate with you if you're not up for it? For me, intimacy is very much a two-way process.” His expression changed, became softer. “Has this happened in the past? You've given intimacy when you weren't truly up for it?”

Spencer considered the question. “Well, I guess, sometimes a partner wants round three or whatever. I'm kind of tired but I just let them because... well I'm not exactly into it, but I’m not repelled either. I'm just sort of... bored. Just wanting it to be over.”

A look of horror overcame Hotch's face. “Have I ever-?”

“No! No never with you! This is the first time that I've thought maybe I wouldn't be into it...”

He came and sat awkwardly beside him.

“I don't ever want you to feel that way, with me. If you don't wish for intimacy, please tell me,” Hotch said, taking his hand. “Morgan, did it ever happen with him?”

Spencer bit his lip. “Only a couple of times.”

Hotch breathed out, loudly.

“Look, I enjoyed that he was so... ravenous for me. I mean, sexually, I wasn't into it. But the intellectual part of it, the fact that here was Derek Morgan, who seemed to not get enough of me, that was... amazing. It wasn't not-consensual. Believe me.”

“I'm utterly shocked! I admit-”

“It's not his fault! He didn't know! I played along with it. Look, he always asked if I was ok. Every single time, when I said I was uncomfortable, or wasn't into it, he stopped. Instantly. I never felt pressured in any way. It's just that sometimes it wasn't happening for me, sexually. But, I so loved the idea that he wanted me so much, that I went along with it.”

Hotch was silent a long time. “I find you an incredibly desirable human being. And it's my great privilege to make love to you. But, I like to think our relationship is more than that.”

“Me too.” Spencer said.

“Well, good. So, please tell me, if you are not absolutely one hundred percent utterly enthused to make love with me.”

“I always am. Just tonight was the exception,” Spencer paused. “I wanted you for a long time, you know. I just thought you were heterosexual. That was why I actually went for Morgan.”

“I wanted you too,” Hotch said, kissing his hand. “How about-” He reached across for the television remote. “We find something to watch and have a night in?”

“That sounds alright.”

Hotch scooted up the bed and leant his back against the headboard, patting his chest. Spencer took his cue and moved up the bed, turning around and resting his head on Hotch's chest.

“I'm not too heavy am I?” He asked, feeling Hotch's arms go around himself.

“You could actually put on some weight, you're pretty slender.”

“Actually, some studies have shown an overall healthier body in obese people, than ones that are overly thin.”

“Mmm...” Hotch turned the television on, with the remote and started flicking through the channels.

“I'm quite certain that this is 'Alien'. Looks like it's just starting.”

“Never seen it,” Spencer said.

“Really? You've never seen Alien? It's seen as a classic.”

“Yes, I hear it's all a metaphor for rape.” _Oh, probably shouldn't have said that._

Hotch laughed. “I haven't heard that one. Yes, yes perhaps it's true.”

As the movie started, Spencer tried keeping his eyes open, but he found them closing for longer and longer periods of time.

“You're not falling asleep are you?” Hotch asked.

“No!” He forced his eyes open. On the screen, a space-suited man appeared to be walking along a desolate alien landscape.

_Alien well that's the name of the film isn't it? Alien landscape._

“Spencer...” He felt Hotch rub his shoulder.

“Mmm...”

“I wanted to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

“I-I love you too.” He heard whispered in his ear. “Sleep well, gorgeous.”

tbc...


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all reading/reviewing/kudoing. Hope you enjoy this one!

“Hey...” Feeling a hand lightly shake his shoulder, Spencer rolled over and looked up, to an already dressed Hotch, standing by the bed.

“We have a case, don't we?” Spencer asked.

“We're due in the office in one hour.”

Spencer swore under his breath and started to rise up. “Do I have time for a quick shower?”

Hotch nodded. “I'm tempted to join you.”

“I'm tempted to let you do that. But, we don't have time, do we?” He said, a little mournfully.

Hotch leant down and kissed him on the lips. “How about later, when we get home, after work, we take our time, together?”

“That sounds a fair compromise.”

*

“Judge Olshaker wasn't exactly a fan of me, after that,” Hotch said, as he smoothly drove the car up the interior ramp of the FBI precinct car park. For the past half hour, Spencer had been quietly awed by Hotch's constant line of chatter, towards him, which was completely at odds with his usual sternness, upon arriving at work. He had barely said a word himself, a bit fearful of breaking the serene magic of having 'Home-Hotch' with him a little while longer.

“I've heard of Olshaker-”

Hotch smiled. “Everyone's heard of him. Or, at least, the scandal that eventually kicked him off the judge's payroll.”

“He was taking bribes, wasn't he? In return for preferential treatment of felons.”

“That's right.”

Hotch reached his car spot, swung the car around and started to reverse in.

“Family annihilator, today,” he said, suddenly sombre. Spencer was impressed with how easily he could make the switch. Lively to serious, in one micro-expression.

“I can assume that this is a case of them already having a suspect, that we have to track down?”

Hotch nodded.

*

“Pretty boy!” Morgan, who had come to work a few minutes after Garcia, came rushing forward. “Have you done something to your hair?”

Spencer frowned and shook his head, as he continued to pour sugar into his coffee. He was a little fatigued ( _wonder why what would be, huh, Spence?_ ) and hoped that the caffeine and sugar hit, would provide the pep that he needed.

“You just look different, somehow?”

“Nope, the same old klutz as usual,” he forced a grin, feeling his innards tighten, as he recalled what he had said to Hotch the night before, about Morgan.

“Ah but I love your klutzy genius nature,” Morgan grinned.

It was only a few times, he told himself. After they’d made love, more than once, Spencer had even commented that Morgan had worn him out. And Morgan had asked- yes, he recalled it now, had specifically asked if he wanted him to keep going. Spencer had said yes.

_I shouldn't have said anything, to Hotch about that. It's not fair to Morgan._

“Everything alright, pretty boy?”

“Morgan!” Hotch said, a slight edge to his voice. “Everyone, in the conference room.”

Spencer noticed that when Hotch addressed the rest of the group, his tone was more conciliatory, than when he had spoke to Morgan. Judging by the puzzled look on his face, Morgan had noticed this too.

*  
“In cases like this, I can't wait to go home and hold Henry. Just hold him in my arms and never let him go,” JJ said.

Seated opposite her, Spencer nodded, in concurrence. He had no 'Henry' to hold but he still understood the concept. The case had been, as ever, a difficult one. Spencer considered all loss of life to be equally horrific and distressing. However, he understood that his other team members clearly felt that when children were murdered, the pain was that much greater.

The father had eventually been located and confessed to the murder of his entire family. Perhaps, from some perspectives, that could be regarded as a 'win'. However, as they bid farewell to the investigating officers, Spencer saw the exhaustion and misery on their faces, now echoed in his colleagues, aboard their jet. Hotch sat a little to the back, next to Rossi. Both spoke very little, mirroring expressions denoting the hopelessness of the case. After all, by the time they were called in, the family was already dead. This included a three year old girl. Charlene.

Charlene, who was found wearing tiny little black shoes and a bright yellow dress. Charlene with the curley blonde hair.

Perhaps he did agree with his colleagues. The murder of a child was the most painful of human experiences to be a part of.

“You did really well today, Spencer,” JJ said, shaking him from his funk.

“I did?”

“Yes, I agree,” Morgan, who was seated opposite him, reached out and momentarily shook his shoulder.

“Oh, thanks,” Spencer didn't think that he did any better, or worse, than any other day on the job. If anything, he felt that Hotch was the star, that day. Certainly, Spencer had been the one to link together the clues, leading to where the father was hiding out, with his thought-to-be-estranged- brother. However, Hotch had been the one to talk him out of killing said brother, after the FBI surrounded the house.

Yes, he decided that he would pay homage to Hotch's bravery that very night. Perhaps using his tongue. He risked looking back. Hotch was talking, in a low voice to Rossi. For a moment, he looked up, not to Spencer, but to Morgan. Spencer eyed him a moment longer, but he didn't return his gaze.

*

Spencer came into the conference room, to find Hotch seated with his laptop open, before himself. Upon seeing him, Hotch gave him a warm smile, so reminiscent of the way he was when they were alone, that Spencer felt a pleasant tingle buzz his senses.

“Morgan and Rossi want to have a few drinks. I'm not up for a big night but I was thinking we-”

The smile instantly vanished from his face. “You go, have a good time. I have more work to do, finish up the case.”

“Oh...” He stood, feeling rather awkward, when footsteps sounded behind him.

“Come on out, and live a little,” Rossi said, now standing beside Spencer.

“I'll pass,” Hotch said.

“He can be such a sourpuss, can't he?” Rossi said, slapping Spencer on the back.

“Someone has to do work around here,” A wry grin twisted the corner of Hotch's mouth.

“Not all of us want to be the director of the FBI,” Rossi said.

“No, some of us are content with being famous writers,” Hotch shot back.

“So, what's the plan?” Morgan sounded from the left of Spencer, moving to stand beside him. The good humour instantly disappeared from Hotch's face. Spencer felt an odd tightening of stomach, dispelling his mirth at the conversation between the two friends. He had initially thought that he had been imagining the odd, stilted manner with which Hotch had addressed Morgan, all day. When discussing the case, Hotch had simply repeated facts at him, in a very wooden manner. He had then separated Morgan from the rest of the team. This was not, in itself, cause for curiosity. However, Spencer was certain that he caught the odd, indecipherable look, cast in Morgan's direction. The few times that Morgan attempted to joke with Hotch, he simply brushed him off. Spencer had told himself, throughout the day, that this was not unusual interaction between Morgan and Hotch. However, the odd tension between them was now almost palpable.

“Well, it seems us three are going to have a good night. You, me and Spencer.” Rossi said.

“Sounds a plan,” Morgan smiled, then thankfully moved away.

“Well, I didn't drive here, so...” Spencer began.

“You can grab a lift with me. I don't plan to stay out long, either. Just one or two drinks.” Rossi said. “Although, I must ask you. Did you know that I moved, recently?”

“No, I didn't know that." _Your point being?_

“Yes, to Mount Crawford. Beautiful place. But rather far from here. There are more than a few nights, particularly if its a 'school night' so to speak, that Hotch here lets me crash at his house, in the spare room. I'm quite certain tonight... would you mind, Hotch?”

“Not a problem,” Hotch said.

“So you're saying....” Spencer said, drawing laughter from Rossi.

“I'm saying I'll drop you off wherever you want to go, afterwards.”

Hotch looked up and raised his brows, in answer.

*

Rossi had clearly been wishing to ask Spencer all night, but had waited until they were both seated in the car, and driving towards Hotch's to bring up the subject. Spencer, for his part, was thinking about Morgan. As soon as they entered the pub, he was accosted by two women. That was not abnormal. While Spencer and Rossi both nursed their first drink, Morgan started talking to a rather handsome blond man. This was.

After Spencer finished his drink, Morgan came over and introduced the man. Connor Langham. Australian, by the accent. Special forces. In particular, Delta trained.

About half and hour, after Rossi finished his second beer, he loudly declared that he wanted to leave. At this point, Morgan and Connor were ensconced in a rather secluded part of the pub. Spencer had not gone past them. Rossi, however, had.

He told himself that he was happy for Morgan. He deserved to have fun.

_Even if it is with another man._

Morgan had always had women, certainly. But, another man... He had never seen him with another man. Certainly not since... himself. No, he was being unfair. He was with Hotch, now. He had no right to feel possessive of Morgan.

_What is wrong with me?_

“So, why is Hotch angry at Morgan, all of the sudden?” Rossi asked.

Spencer blinked. “So you noticed too.”

“Aaron's too controlled to allow it to be too obvious. However, if you know him as much as I do...”

“I don't know...” Spencer lied. He actually had a fair idea as to why Hotch was angry at Morgan. 

“Ah, I see. Personal, I get it.”

“It's nothing!” Spencer said, suddenly, unwittingly angry.

“Sounds it.”

“I just told him something, in private, that he's clearly taken to mean something completely different.”

“So, you're saying that he's misinterpreted something that you've told him.”

“Exactly!”

*

Although they spoke no more on the subject, by the time they reached Hotch's and knocked on the front door, Spencer had inwardly built himself up to quite the state of frustrated anger. Seeing the tired looking, dark haired man, as he opened the door with a smile, did nothing to curb his emotions. Hotch shot him a momentarily concerned look, before turning his attention to his friend.

“You know the drill,” he said, to Rossi. “Second door to the end of the hall.”

“Do you mind if I have a shower, first?”

Hotch shrugged, and stepped back, allowing them both in. Spencer looked to the drinks cabinet at the far end of the room. He wondered if Hotch would pour a drink for him. Wondered if Hotch wanted to make love. After all, that could be exactly what Morgan would be doing right now.

_Connor was gorgeous, you've got to admit. Perfect male specimen._

_And Hotch is a gargoyle?_

Watching him now, Spencer felt torn between wanting to remain angry and wanting to drink in his masculine beauty. He felt the usual mild marvel at the long dark eyelashes.

“You know where the towels are,” Hotch said, to Rossi's retreating back, moving down the hall. He then turned back to Spencer.

“Everything alright?”

“Rossi asked me, in the car, on the way here. Why have you been so cold to Morgan, all day?”

For a moment, Spencer could see hesitation forming in the dark eyes, before his shoulders curled, in a gesture of defeat. He walked over and closed the door, separating the lounge room from the hallway, in clear intent to give them privacy.

“I'm sorry, Spencer. I guess, I'm still angry about what you told me last night.”

_There it is._

“I also told you that he had done nothing wrong!”

“He still should have seen-”

“Seen what? I was participating! Or at least making the motions that I was into what he was doing. And, there were always other, clear signs that I was at least somewhat into it,” he said, feeling his face flush.

“We both know that signs of arousal does not mean that a person wants what is happening to them-”

“This is ridiculous! I did want what was happening! Damn you, Hotch. You’re making him out to be some kind of rapist. It's simply not true!”

“No, I don't think that at all! But I do believe that he used you, purely for his own sexual gratification.”

“And what about my own?”

“But you wanted more. I know you did. I know you.”

“Why does this even matter? I'm with you, aren't I?”

“I know that you're attracted to him, still,” Hotch said, simply.

Spencer's mind went back to that night. Connor. The lust in Morgan's eyes, when he looked at him.

Hotch sat down on the lounge chair. “I will not compete, with the attentions of another man.”

“I'm not with him! Look, I don't understand this. You told me that you'd be happy for me to have a good friendship with Derek Morgan.”

“And that's true,” Hotch said. He paused, for such a long time that Spencer opened his mouth. Hotch then spoke once more.“Actually, I think you coming over here tonight was a mistake. I'll call you a taxi.”

“I don't...” Spencer felt tears spring to the corners of his eyes. “I don't understand... Last night...”

“We've been taking things a bit too fast. And I want to slow it down.”

_Slow it down?_

“Maybe we should... take a break, for a while.”

_He's rejecting me?_

The tears fell down his cheeks. Spencer angrily wiped them away, storming towards the front door.

“No, I'll call the-” Hotch began.

“Don't bother!”

“No, wait I, I'm sorry, I. Stop, please.”

Spencer spun around. “No, fuck you, Hotch. You can't do this to me. It's not fair. You can't declare your feelings one night, and then turn around and try and reject me the next! It's a really terrible thing to do to someone!” As he spoke, more tears fell down his face. No, he didn't want this. Why was he crying? This needed to stop.

Sharp rapping occurred in the doorway, separating the lounge from the hall, startling both Hotch and Spencer.

“Just let me in,” Rossi said.

Hotch went slightly pale and walked over to open the door.

“What on earth is going on with you two?”

Mustering as much dignity as he could, Spencer said “What's going on is I’m leaving.”

“Ok, that's your prerogative. But I would like to know what is going on. Just stay, a few minutes to explain what’s happening. Then, you can leave. How about that?” Rossi said.

Taking a few deep breaths, to calm his racing heart, Spencer nodded. And stepped away from the door.

“Alright. I could hear shouting from down the hall.”

Spencer looked down the the floor, feeling his face flush, once more.

“What's happening is that I'm an idiot,” Hotch said. “I was feeling threatened, so I tried to push Spencer away. Even though I actually didn't want to.”

“Ahuh. And I take it, the threat involved Derek Morgan?”

Spencer looked up to see Hotch nod.

“It's more complicated than you realise, Dave. It's not just simple jealousy.”

“I know you better than that. But the threat isn't really about Derek Morgan, is it?”

“I guess not,” Hotch sighed.

“Go on, tell Spencer the truth. I think he deserves it.”

Spencer folded his arms, not willing to budge.

_Just let him talk then you can leave._

“Maybe I should... leave you two alone, to talk,” Rossi said, quietly slipping out of the room and closing the door behind him.

_Thanks, thanks a lot, Rossi._

“Go on, what's the truth?” Spencer said, without a hint of warmth in his voice. Hotch didn't deserve that.

“The truth...” Hotch shook his head. “Is almost ridiculously cliqued. I feel almost embarrassed that me, a grown man in his forties, should feel this way.”

“Feel _what_ way?”

“I've had a fair few relations in my life. Men. Women. Hailey was the love of my life. My feelings for her were so strong. After she passed, I never thought I'd feel the same way again. And then, it came so unexpectedly. From a colleague, of all people.” He looked down to the ground. “I know we haven't been together for very long, but I do have... strong feelings for you. Look, you're insanely gorgeous-”

“Hotch-” Spencer unfolded his arms.

“Fiercely intelligent. Sweet. Kind. Compassionate. Funny in an understated kind of way. Quirky. I started to worry about when you'd realise that you were with fuddy duddy Aaron Hotchner and be quick to run the other direction. Of course, I know this is irrational. You wouldn't be with me if you didn't think otherwise. One of the things I love about you is your autonomy. Your beautiful mind and decisions regarding yourself.”

_No, he can't say such sweet things. Not now._

“I do recognise what a great guy Derek Morgan is. I know he has his flaws. But when I think about you two together... that's where the irrationality kicks in, once more.” Hotch looked up. “I acted utterly stupidly. Pigheadedly irrational, when I said I was rejecting you. I didn't mean it at all. Believe me when I say I yearn to be with you.”

“You can't do that. Threaten to dump me and kick me out, because you feel threatened. It's not fair.”

“I know. I won't do it again,” the truth lay in the pain in the dark irises. “I'm sorry I hurt you.”

“Rossi will have to kick you behind,” Spencer said, feeling the pain dissipate with Hotch's sincere apology.

“Oh, he will,” he stood up and stepped in front of Spencer. “I really do love you, you know.”

“I believe you,” Spencer said, reaching up to gently tug at his tie.

“Although, I admit that sometimes I worry I'm not... I'm aware that yours and Morgan's was a vastly sexual one. There are some things that I can't...”

“Morgan was fun,” Spencer admitted. “But... different. I love making love with you.” He kissed Hotch on the neck. “Love how attentive you are, how gentle. I don't care for trying every act in the karma sutra.” He pulled back, needing to feel wanted, needed. “Can we go to the bedroom and make love?”

Hotch responded by passionately kissing him.

*  
Spencer gripped Hotch's shoulders, moaning, thrusting up and down in time to the movement inside himself. He could feel Hotch's hand on his erection, vigorously pumping, the other trailing over his body, pinching at his nipples, stroking the inside of his thighs. Hotch's tongue trailed his ear, between whispered words.

“...love you, gorgeous... want you... want you so much...”

Spencer slid his hands down Hotch's back to grip his buttocks, urging him to move faster, as he felt himself explode with pleasure, hearing Hotch's own moan of relief, as the rush of his come filled him. Hotch gasped, tenderly removing himself, then pulled Spencer to him, kissing him passionately on the mouth.

“I hope we weren't too loud. Wouldn't want to wake Dave,” Hotch grinned, running a hand through Spencer's hair. He laughed at the obvious horrored look on Spencer's face. “It's ok. Dave has quite literally slept through an earthquake.”

Spencer laughed a little with relief and turned on his side.

_Bed now. Tired._

In his wild fantasies, before actually being with him, he had never imagined Hotch to be the 'snuggle' type. Yet, here he was, wrapping an arm around Spencer's waist and bestowing gentle kisses on his back. As he always did, after making love. It was almost a little bewildering.

“I won't be in tomorrow, until the afternoon, remember?” Hotch said.

 _Ah, yes, Hotch's Psychologist appointment._ “Yes, well if you'll recall the plan is for the team to do some teaching, at the academy. So at least no crimes to solve.”

“Mmm... always fun.”

"Hotch?"

"Mmm...?"

“I don’t think you're fuddy duddy at all. You're...” _Where to even begin?_ “You're _Aaron Hotchner_. I'm the one who feels astounded to be lying in the same bed as you. To have just made love to you. I always thought that you were... untouchable. It's utterly bewildering to me that you, of all people, would think that I would think you're somehow an old 'fuddy duddy, as you say.”

“I guess we're both guilty, then, of thinking that the other is too good for them would that be true?”

“The blight of being a profiler. We understand our own messed up psychology a little too well.”

Hotch laughed. “I'm quite certain we know other peoples far better than our own.”

Spencer turned back and stole another kiss, suddenly realising that he didn't care who Morgan had gone home with, that night.

Tbc...


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all reading/kudos/comments. This chapter is mainly an excuse for a big sex scene ;)

“There's a famous Sherlock Holmes story,” Spencer clenched his hands in front of each other, ignoring the two young women in the front row of the auditorium who were visibly ogling him and giggling. “Where he works out that the perp must have known the victim, because the dog, who always barked at strangers, didn't bark. This is the kind of logical thinking we're referring to, here. Sometimes it's what's _missing_ that provides the biggest clue to solving the case.”

“So, in other words,” Rossi now stepped forward, “You must use every avenue to discern the identity and also motivations of the perp; both what is right in front of you and what isn't.”

“So, we'd like to thank you for your time. We hope we've illuminated some of the work that we do at the BAU,” JJ said, finishing off. The audience then started to applaud. Spencer exhaled, thankful that the talking was over. He'd actually prefer to take on any number of sadistic criminal, than to give another talk to an FBI class. 

*

Fielding questions from the FBI students took longer than he'd estimated. The two front row women came up to him and flirted wildly. He tried to respond courteously, ignoring Morgan, who was standing to his right and grinning so wide that Spencer could count thirteen teeth. After about twenty minutes, the last of the group straggled out.

“Getting some attention there, pretty boy?” Morgan asked.

“It's fine."

_Unfortunately for them I'm taken._

The thought sent a soothing warmth around his body.

_Taken by Aaron Hotchner._

“So, you going to see Connor Langham again?”

The smile went from Morgan's face. “I don't think so.”

“Oh? Why?” Spencer said, as he picked up his satchel and started to move to the auditorium door, behind the others.

“It was just fun, Reid. We both knew it. I have no desire to be 'loved up' like you are.”

“I'm not exactly-”

“So quick to deny. Are things not going so smooth in love land?” Morgan teased. Although this was not unusual for the handsome man, Spencer could sense a slight edge to his voice.

“I'd rather not discuss my love life,” he said, a little more harshly than he'd intended.

JJ turned and gave Morgan a clear annoyed look.

“So, proverbial trouble in paradise?” Morgan said, then leant in close to Spencer. “You always have a backup, if you like, pretty boy.”

Spencer could feel his breath coast his ear, sending electric ripples across his flesh.

“You're worth more than that to me, Morgan." He backed away, a little, giving himself more space. “You're no backup, your my good friend.”

A devilish grin broke out on the handsome face.

“Really?”

They stepped out of the auditorium, into the vast corridor. Morgan started poking Spencer in the waist.

“What are you doing?”

Morgan poked him some more.

“Stop that!”

“Gonna make me pretty boy?” _poke poke poke._ “Try and stop me,” Morgan laughed.

“Morgan...” JJ turned back again and shook her head. This only seemed to spur Morgan on more and he launched himself onto Spencer, hands tickling his waist, attempting to reach under his arm pits. Spencer screamed, the kind of half-terror-half-delight that only tickling could produce. He found himself pressed against the wall, unable to resist Morgan's onslaught.

“How old are you two, exactly?” Rossi asked.

“Alright, stop, stop,” Spencer said, between frenzied giggles. Morgan instantly stopped and moved back, as familiar footsteps came up the hall. As Hotch appeared, Morgan poked Spencer, once more, grinning.

“How did it go?” Hotch's face was impassive. Work-Hotch.

“Fine,” Rossi said. “No particular mess ups from anyone.”

“Although Reid seemed to be rather distracting for a few of the girls in the front row,” Morgan said.

“Is that so?” A ghost of a smile touched Hotch's lips, only momentarily, before disappearing. “We have a job in Cincinnati. An agent has been killed.”

The light, teasing mood of the group instantly ceased.

“What's the story?” Rossi asked.

“The agent was investigating a suspect involved in a suspected terror plot, when he was stabbed to death, while in a safe house.”

The other agents all shared equal glances of alarm.

“How is that possible?” Spencer asked, feeling simply confused.

“That is what we're going to find out,” Hotch replied.

*

Spencer stepped into the motel room, closing the door behind himself. He then shook off his coat and threw it onto the bed, took two steps, then collapsed forward, himself, onto the surprisingly soft mattress. It had been a long day, followed by a longer night. Although every death was equal, the fact that it was one of their own, seemed to make it somehow more personal. As it was, they were not making much headway, in terms of the case. They were rather certain that the murder was not, in fact, terror related but, rather, that the motive was personal cause, which meant the murderer was someone the agent knew. That theory, however, was not popular as it produced no viable suspects. The agent, who, from his photos, had been rather handsome, in life, was regarded as well liked by everyone around him; was said to be wickedly funny, smart and genuinely caring. He had been stabbed forty-seven times in the neck and chest. His colleagues and loved ones seemed baffled as to who would enact such a crime.

Working with other FBI colleagues also did not help matters. All day, Spencer felt as though the team was being second-guessed, even mocked. Morgan was the only one who did not seem to bore any brunt of the subtle abuse. It turned out that he knew one of the other FBI agents, from Chicago. The two spent the day subtly flirting with each other. Finally, after hours of looking at the evidence from every conceivable angle, with little success, Hotch had ordered the team back to their respective motel rooms, to get a couple of hours sleep, before continuing.

A sudden sharp knocking on his motel room door, startled him from his meandering thoughts. Spencer moaned, pressing deeper into the blanket that he was lying on, before shaking himself, and moving to a standing position.

At a guess, he would presume the night time visitor to be JJ. He would simply open the door and tell her that he was, unfortunately, too exhausted to-

Hotch stood on the other end of the door. Spencer blinked and opened it more, allowing him inside, before closing, and locking, it.

The older man walked to the centre of the room, pointing up at the painting, of a rather handsome sailing boat, hanging on the wall over the bed.

“That is much less tacky than the one on my wall. Mine's a Van Gough wannabe.”

Spencer simply stood by the door. He supposed Hotch wanted sex, and felt a level of frustration rise within himself, unfortunately not of the sexual kind.

“Let's avail ourselves of some terrible champagne out of the bar fridge, shall we?” Hotch said, moving to the small fridge to the left of the bed, before Spencer could answer.

Spencer walked to the edge of the bed and sat down, ringing his hands together, as Hotch brought up two small bottles of sparkling wine and handed Spencer one.

“To finding the one who did this terrible crime,” Hotch said, sitting down beside him and clinking their 600ml bottles together, before unscrewing his own cork and placing it on the bedside table and then taking a swig of his sparkling. Spencer unscrewed the cork off his own bottle and took a swig, scrunching up his face, at the somewhat bitter taste.

“You alright?” Hotch asked.

“Exhausted,” Spencer admitted. Hotch nodded, placing the  arm holding the tiny champagne bottle around him and kissing his cheek, before using his other, free hand to tilt his chin to the side, so their lips could touch. Spencer did not realise how much he was yearning for this, until it was happening. He moaned into Hotch's mouth. The older man pulled away first.

“Better?” He grinned.

“Better,” Spencer said.

Hotch placed a hand on his thigh, just above the knee, taking another sip of his champagne. Spencer wasn't certain how to react. Did Hotch want sex, or not? Wasn't that the reason why he was there?

“So, are we going to have sex?” He asked.

“That is possibly the most romantic thing you've ever said to me,” Hotch said, utterly deadpan. “Would _you_ like to make love?”

Spencer hesitated, opened his mouth to speak, when Hotch cut in.

“No then,” Hotch said.

“You're not disappointed?” Spencer asked.

Hotch smiled, leant across and kissed him on the cheek, then chin.

“I'm sorry, I'm just... very tired tonight.”

“Spencer,” Hotch said, tenderly. “You never have to apologise for not wanting to be intimate. Never.”

Spencer nodded.

“I'm not sure if I'm up for intimacy, tonight, either,” Hotch admitted. “I was pacing my motel room, not able to sleep, when I realised that what I really wanted to do was to go to you, fall asleep holding you,” he reached up and ran his fingers through Spencer's hair, creating little sparks up and down Spencer's spine. “Feel your soft hair, your warmth.”

“I would very much like that, too.” Spencer said, reaching over to place his champagne bottle on the bedside table. He then moved up the bed, until he was sitting up, against the headboard, then patted the empty space beside himself. Hotch took another swig of his champagne, then followed suite, moving beside Spencer, and placing an arm around his shoulders, the other lightly stroking up and down his thigh.

“Did you end up seeing the psychologist?” Spencer asked.

“Yes, I did. Of course, this was just the start, establishing what I wanted to get out of the ongoing sessions. I should tell you that you came up, a few times.”

“Oh...”

“We talked about how this relationship was forcing me to confront my intimacy issues,” Hotch lifted Spencer's hand and kissed it. “My continued guilt over starting any relationships after Hailey. My denial of my own rape.”

“Sounds like you talked about a lot of things.”

Hotch laughed a little. “Yes, I have a few issues to work through. But the one thing that became pretty clear to me, is how good you are for me. You force me to confront my demons. After all, you were the one who kept encouraging me to go see a psychologist.”

Spencer squeezed the hand that was holding his. “I'm glad you're working through your issues. I truly am.”

Hotch lifted his hand and kissed it, once more, then used his other to reach for the television remote.

“Shall we?”

Spencer suddenly realised that he hadn't even changed out of his clothes. He kicked off his shoes, then turned and buried the side of his face in Hotch's chest, slinging one leg over the other man's, his arm coming to rest on Hotch's hip.

“You really are tired,” Hotch said, running a hand up and down his back, over his shirt and jumper.

“Mmm...” Spencer closed his eyes, content just to lie there, in the moment.

“Alright,” Hotch said. Spencer heard the thump of him replacing the remote on the night stand.  
“You can't sleep in your clothes.”

Spencer moaned, as he felt himself gently rolled.

“Arms up!” Hotch ordered.

Spencer placed his arms up and felt his jumper be pulled up and over his head. The buttons on his shirt were when undone, one by one. If he wasn't so exhausted, the situation would be rather arousing. Hotch rolled him to one side and bent his arm up at the elbow to take his arm out of the shirt hole, then did the same to the other side. Now shirt free, he felt soft lips kiss him just above the belly button. His trousers were then undone and slid down and off his body. Hotch then pulled the blanket up over him. For a few minutes, her heard Hotch pace around the room, followed by the creak of the cupboard door opening and the clang of the few hangers the motel owners had deigned to place inside. A rustling sound, presumably of Hotch removing his own clothes, followed by more clanging of hangers. Silence for the next three minutes, then the sound of a toilet flushing. Padded feet by the bed, the slight chill as the blanket lifted, then blessed warmth up against his back, an arm slung over his waist, the other hand gently stroking his hair.

“Better?” He asked Hotch.

“Mmm... much better.”

*

Spencer opened his eyes to the red of the motel alarm clock display. The time showed 3.05am. He felt a distinct lack of Hotch pressed up against him, or indeed, in the bed at all, with him.

He must have gone back to his own room, he thought, feeling disappointment sear through his body. He rolled over and noticed that the bathroom door was closed, a dim light issuing underneath. In the other room, the toilet flushed. Spencer instantly jumped up. Thirty seconds later, Hotch came out of the bathroom.

“Hey,” Hotch said quietly. “When did you get up?”

“Don't go back to sleep, ok? I need to tag-team you,” Spencer raced into the bathroom, completing his toilet business in record time, then quickly washed and dried his hands and returned to the room. As per his request, Hotch sat up in the bed. Spencer crawled under the covers, placing his knees on either side of Hotch's hips and leaned in to kiss him thoroughly.

“No longer tired, I see,” Hotch said, as he started to kiss down his neck, then mindful of Hotch's shyness about his upper body's scars, simply moved down past them, to pull his boxers down, then off, to pay attention to the area that was already very much at attention. Spencer supposed he wasn't very good at this; fellatio, a blow job, head, whatever the current cool vernacular was. Morgan had certainly been insanely good, often leading Spencer to orgasm within minutes. Spencer tried to copy his technique but with less success. Even so, from Hotch's moans, he seemed to be enjoying it alright.

“Spencer... wait!”

Spencer instantly ceased, pulling his head up. Hotch's face was splotched with red, his chest heaving.

“In my coat pocket... left...” He seemed to have difficulty getting the words out. Pleased with himself, Spencer leapt off the bed and went to the wardrobe, to where Hotch had carefully hung up their clothes. In Hotch's left coat pocket, he felt a familiar tube.

“So you did come prepared!” He laughed, jumping back onto the bed and uncapping the lube, squeezing some of the substance onto his fingers. As he reached down for Hotch's erection, he leant forward to taste his mouth, once more.

“I want you to do something,” Hotch said.

“What's that?”

“I want you to... I want you to eventually make love to me, but I can only do it in stages. For now, I want you to... use your fingers.”

Spencer was touched by the vulnerability on Hotch's face, the trust given.

“Ok... you let me know if you want me to stop.” He started to tug at Hotch's erection with one hand, as his left middle finger gently made entry into Hotch's body. The other man stiffened.

“More...” He breathed, leaning forward to kiss Spencer on the neck.

Spencer could feel his own erection, poking into Hotch's stomach but chose to ignore it. This was all about keeping his lover comfortable. He thought back to all the times he made love to Morgan. Slow, steady preparation. This was doubly important, now that he was with Hotch. He continued with the finger's slow entrance, then curled it up and pressed upwards against Hotch's prostate. Hotch jumped and moaned. As Morgan had also found, Spencer's long fingers were, indeed, a bonus. He pressed again, then again, starting to time it with the stroking of his hand.

Hotch's moaning grew louder, his eyes closed, head flung back. Spencer marvelled at the power he felt, in giving his lover such pleasure.

_That's it. That's it._

“No, no no I can't!” Hotch suddenly said, stiffening. Spencer had already pulled out from the first 'no'. He quickly moved off the older man.

“Damn it!” Hotch thumped the mattress beneath him. “I'm sorry.”

“It's ok,” Spencer said.

Hotch rolled so he faced him. “I wanted to. I just couldn't.”

“It's fine. Honestly.”

Hotch moved forward, clashing their mouths heatedly together, reaching to tug at Spencer's own erection.

“It's ok...” Spencer grabbed the lube again, smearing it once more on his own fingers, before pressing them into his own entrance.

“Spencer...” Hotch moaned.

“I want you to do it... please...” He rubbed more of the lube onto Hotch's erection.

“Wait! I want to try something new.”

“Alright...”

“Get on your knees and place your hands above you on the headboard.”

Spencer did as Hotch suggested but felt slightly perturbed. Usually, Hotch liked to be facing him, when they made love. He felt the man's warmth on his back, sprinkled kisses on his shoulders, as he was slowly entered. Hotch's other hand started to stroke his erection, once more. It wasn't until the older man started to move, that Spencer realised the reason for the change in position. Hotch was angling his thrusts so that every time, he hit Spencer's prostate hard. Spencer couldn't help but moan loudly, which then became straight out cries of passion. He could feel Hotch gently grab his face, twist it so he could kiss his open, moaning mouth, his chin. The entire bed was moving, the head board thudding into the wall, in time with their movements, in time with Spencer's cries. Thud thud. Thudthudthudthud.

“That's it. That's it beautiful. I want you to come. I want you to come for me.”

And so Spencer did, loudly calling out Hotch's name as he did so. Finally, complete, spent, Hotch started to cry out himself, continuing with the hard thrusts. The headboard slamming against the wall. Thudthudthudthudthud. Hotch was still kissing his shoulder, then sucking, then licking his neck, his face, both hands on his hips for leverage. Spencer could feel the older man use his body for his pleasure and it made him feel strong, powerful. Hotch had deliberately taken care of his needs and was now taking care of his own. Finally, Hotch cried his name out loudly, brokenly and he felt the usual rush of warmth within him. Hotch then pulled out and Spencer turned around to face him.

“That was...” He was still out of breath. “I hope the walls are thick, or we may have just woken up the whole motel complex! You planned that, didn't you?”

Hotch grinned. “I admit, earlier, in my own motel room, I thought about how much I wanted to have you scream with pleasure. I've learnt from experience that that position creates the best sex for both men involved.”

Who was that with? Spencer thought suddenly, a rush of jealousy sweeping through himself.

“From my first male lover, twenty years ago.”

_Oh..._

“You said, when you first came in that you had been thinking about simply holding me in your arms, in bed.”

“I thought about a lot of things, while I was pacing that room,” Hotch said.

Spencer laughed, before leaning forward and tasting Hotch's lips. He had long decided that Hotch's mouth was very delicious, indeed.

“There are other positions, too, that are very pleasurable. Maybe I could teach them to you.”

Hotch's good humoured expression instantly broke, to be replaced by something colder. Spencer felt his heartrate inexplicably lift, at the sight.

“I'm sure you and Morgan did all of the positions in the karma sutra.”

So, there it was.

_Why would you do this? We just made love!_

“That's unfair,” Spencer said, pulling away from him.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Spencer. My jealousy of your relationship with Morgan is something I'm working on.”

Spencer slumped away from him, on the bed, pulling the blanket over himself.

“You know that Morgan is in the room next door. Is that also why you wanted me to 'scream with pleasure'? So Morgan can hear what a great lover you are?”

“No! Of course not! I wasn't even thinking about who was next door. In fact, I'm hoping that they _didn't_ hear our lovemaking. To me, hearing other people being intimate, is incredibly awkward.”

He felt Hotch's hand lightly touch his back. “Please, Spencer.”

Spencer rolled to face him. “How about we try every position right now? Then we can get them out of the way and you can stop comparing yourself to Morgan.”

He could see the agony etched in the lines on Hotch's face and felt a dim sense of victory.

“No, it's not about that. I couldn't... I wanted so much for you to make love to me. But I couldn't even tolerate your finger without panicking. Well, I figured the least I could do then was give you a really powerful orgasm.”

Spencer shook his head, feeling the hurt dissipate. He reached out and grabbed Hotch's hand.

“You've gone through a terrible trauma. There is no rush. I'm more than happy with our current love life.”

Hotch's naked vulnerability made him look younger.

“Sometimes I think I don't deserve someone as pure as you,” he said. “Damn, I love you.”

Spencer smiled. “I know."

*  
Spencer stood in the shower, soaping himself up, when Hotch came in, also naked. Ten minutes later, after a rather satisfying climax from both sides, Spencer was dressing himself, while Hotch brushed his teeth. For his part, Spencer felt like singing. Not only had Hotch stayed in his motel room, while they were on a case, but they'd also made love twice. Hotch walked out of the room, a towel slung around his waist and went to the wardrobe while Spencer wolf whistled.

“You go ahead of me, to the police station. I have to grab my gear from the motel room.”

“Ok, sure,” Spencer said, pulling his coat on. He then stepped over to Hotch and satisfied himself with a drawn-out kiss, possibly the only one he'd receive that day.

“Thank you for staying over last night," Spencer said.

"Thank you for having me," Hotch whispered, favouring Spencer with one of his dazzling smiles, which abruptly left his face. "You're ok this morning? I know our lovemaking was a bit less... gentle last night..."

"I'm ok. A bit sore, but it's ok..." He said, quickly, to assuage the sudden fear on Hotch's face. "It's a good kind of sore." He gently strummed his fingers on Hotch's chest. "I liked you... taking charge. And again this morning, when you initiated mutual masturbation, in the shower."

Hotch smiled, shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder if that brain of yours shuts off, even when in the throes of passion."

Spencer considered this. "With _you_ , yes."

He suddenly realised what he had just said. Hotch appeared surprised but also pleased.

"How about, when we're finally free of this job, you come over and spent a few days with me and Jack?" Hotch said. "'This time, remember to bring a change of clothes. Maybe a toothbrush." 

"Sure, I'd like that." 

*

Spencer arrived at the police station fifteen minutes later. He stepped into the main pen and instantly recognised Morgan, huddled close with his friend. Both glanced in Spencer's direction, then huddled together again. Spencer instantly felt an odd anxiety rise in his system. Steeling himself, he forced his legs to walk over to them.

“Good morning!” He forced a smile to his lips.

“Sleep well?” Morgan asked. The friend chuckled.

“Alright, how about you?”

“Not too well at all. You see, someone in the room next door was having loud sex, which kept me up.”

Spencer felt instant heat suffuse his face. So, it turned out that Morgan did hear. He turned and swiftly moved away, still hearing Morgan's friend's laughter in his ears.

Tbc...


	12. Chapter 12

Spencer rushed into the precinct's male toilets, feeling heat burn his cheeks, as the blood rushed to the surface of his skin. He slammed the door behind himself, then went to the mirror, leaning over the sink, to look at his pale reflection. He told himself that he would be alright. It didn't matter if Morgan had overheard him having sex. Being loud, due to sexual stimulation should not be something to be ashamed of.

He repeated the line, over and over in his head.

_You have nothing to be ashamed of._

Even so, at that point, he was not sure if his ego could bear going back into that room; in particular, to hear more of Morgan's taunts. The door opened, and Morgan, himself, stepped in. Spencer deliberately lengthened his spine. He was certain that Morgan would not be so cruel as to taunt him more. Even so, if he did, Spencer inwardly assured himself that he would not back down.

“Ok, maybe that was a bit harsh,” Morgan said. He didn't look sorry, in Spencer’s opinion. The half-smile had not left his face. “Oh, come on pretty boy-”

“What do you want me to say, Morgan?” He folded his arms, feeling his hands tremble slightly.

_No shame._

“Come on, now,” the grin widened. “You _knew_ I was in the next room.”

“Excuse me?”

“I get it.”

“Get what?” He distinctly felt that Morgan was deliberately acting coy, and was baffled as to why.

Morgan glanced back at the closed door, then around the room, as though verifying that they were alone. He then stepped forward, so that he was now close enough to be in Spencer's personal body space. Spencer took a step back and found himself wedged up against the sink.

“Last night proved that you still want me,” Morgan's sudden husky voice was low, almost a whisper. “You wanted to make me feel jealous. Well, it worked.”

For once, his immense brain could not help him. Spencer felt utterly speechless.

“I know you're with Hotch but... we can still have fun, can't we?”

_Why is he doing this?_

“You are completely wrong about me!” Spencer pushed past Morgan with his body, obtaining some space between them. “I was not trying to make you feel jealous, as you say. I was being intimate with my boyfriend and got a bit carried away! That is the absolute truth!”

The smile dropped from Morgan's face.

“You're right. I'm with Hotch, now. You had your chance.”

For a moment, Morgan didn't reply. He appeared to be very seriously calculating his next words.

“Listen, I've thought about this. I realise that, when we were together, I didn't treat you very well. But, I’ve come to realise that if you gave me a second chance, I'd make it up to you. I'd be everything you wanted me to be.”

Spencer felt an odd sinking sensation, as though all of his upper organs were descending into his lower abdomen.

How he had pined to to hear those exact same words, while they were together; for Morgan to be the man that he so longed him to be. Only, Spencer realised now, he never would be that man. He never could be.

Only one person could be that man.

“It's too late. I'm with Hotch. I love Hotch.”

Morgan sighed. “He is a good man. I'm sorry, Reid. It has nothing to do with you. It just, it kills me to see you two together. I know I should be happy for you. And a part of me is. But another part just misses what we could have had.”

“You're right. That has nothing to do with me,” Spencer moved towards the door.

“Listen, I'm sorry, I really am. I don't want to lose your friendship, as well.”

Spencer momentarily stopped, then nodded, stepping out of the room, not wishing to say any more, lest he actually destroy their friendship.

*

Hotch divided the team up, in his usual fashion, in order for the investigation to go more smoothly. Spencer had finished the day before sifting and sorting through the deceased agent's photos and memorabilia. Starting afresh, he started to pile all of the photos on the conference table, once more, determined, this time, to find the breakthrough, that had eluded the team previously.

Morgan, who was teamed with Rossi, was the last to leave the room. Spencer determinedly ignored the eyes burning into his back, as he continued to place the agent's childhood photos, on the circular furniture.

The door opened and he turned, to see a grey haired man, impeccably dressed; the deceased agent's superior, a man named Richard Carlson.

“Is there any new information that you can give me?” He asked, his manner rather abrupt.

“We're still working on our profile,” Hotch said.

Richard curtly nodded, then swung around and left the room. For a moment, Spencer and Hotch were left alone together.

“You alright?” Hotch asked. Spencer felt his hand rubbing his shoulder.

“I'm fine,” he forced a smile.

The hand slid across to tousle the back of his hair, before disappearing. A few moments later, he heard the door close. It occurred to Spencer that this was the first time that Hotch had initiated any bodily contact, while at work, since they'd started dating. Hotch had, certainly, never been a particularly tactile person. Even so, he occasionally touched his colleagues on the arm or back. Everyone except Spencer, that was.

Spencer suddenly felt as though he'd been zapped with an electrical shock.

_That is it!_

He looked through the later photos of the once handsome, blond agent, Jamie Scarpetta, finally aware of the one thing that had been obvious, all along. In almost every photo, Jamie had his arm around the person he was in the photo with. Spencer noticed that this even applied to fellow agents. In life, it was obvious that Jamie had been a rather tactile person.

With one exception.

In the few photos including Richard Carlson, Jamie did not touch him. In fact, both stood awkwardly beside each other. Perhaps Agent Carlson wasn't particularly tactile. That was a possibility. In life, from what Spencer could discern, Jamie seemed to be a lot like Morgan. This meant that he would be happy to touch anyone, regardless of their shyness.

No, something else was going on, here.

Spencer rushed out of the room, in such awkward looking strides that he earned a few smirks from the officers in the cubicles before him. He called out to Hotch, who was standing across the room and looked to be conversing with a few of the other, rather disgruntled looking agents.

“I need to... er... talk to you. Alone.”

Frowning, Hotch walked over. “What is it, Reid?”

Reid, when they were at work. Never Spencer.

Spencer signalled for him to come into the conference room, closing the door behind them.

“I've been going through these photos and I've discovered something... interesting. So, I've been looking at the body language of Agent Scarpetta, with his family, friends, colleagues,” as he talked, he started producing different photos. “Always tactile, touching. An arm around the shoulder, on the arm. Even with photos where it's clear he isn't aware the camera is on him,” He pulled out a photo of Jamie laughing with a colleague, his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “There are only five photos, from his laptop, of him with his superior, Agent Carlson.” He then took out the printout of all five and laid them out on the table. “In not a single one of these, is he touching Agent Carlson.”

“Agent Carlson is clearly not the tactile type,” Hotch said, looking at the photos, his frown deepening.

“Yes, but Agent Scarpetta _is_.” Spencer did a quick tally of the photos before him. “Of the ninety-five other photos before me, seventy-three are of him with another person. He is touching the other person in sixty-nine of them. This is regardless whether they are male female, old or young.”

“So are you saying-?”

“I'm saying there is a clear reason why he _isn't_ touching Agent Carlson. Both were married. Carlson had two daughters. They were clearly very careful about keeping the relationship secret.”

A jumble of emotions crossed the handsome face. Hotch shook his head. “It was right in front of us the entire time!”

In that instant, Hotch's mobile phone rang. Hotch answered. “Morgan. Putting you on speaker phone.”

“Hotch, just to let you know, we're bringing in Vincent Campbell now,” Morgan's tinny sounding voice, came though the loudspeaker.

“Thanks, Morgan. Let me know how it goes.”

The other agents had wanted to bring in their terror suspect, Vincent Campbell, on suspicions of murder, even with the knowledge that it would destroy their operation, by revealing Jamie to be an undercover agent. The profilers had suggested that they instead bring him in as a potential witness, sticking to Jamie's original 'cover' as the owner of a pub that Vincent frequented. The reasoning the profilers gave was that if Vincent and his cohorts had any suspicions of Jamie not being how he presented, they would have changed their behaviour. This would particularly be true, if they had murdered Jamie. As it was, Vincent and his cohorts continued with actions that were 'normal' for them; stockading weapons and plutonium on their properties, as they published increasingly bizarre anti-government rants, on their popular right-winged newsletter.

Not that Vincent Campbell mattered, when it came to the death of Jamie Scarpetta anyway, Spencer now thought. The other agents, as the profilers had suspected from the beginning, were completely wrong.

Vincent Campbell didn't murder Jamie Scarpetta.

*

Vincent Campbell didn't fit any profile of a personal cause killer, but he certainly fit the profile of a would-be bomber. Spencer could see why the agents were keen to get as much evidence on him as possible, to put him away for a long time. Watching the man be interviewed now, he could see the usual signs of deep paranoia, the shifting eyes that never caught those of his interviewers, the constant, jittery movements.

“I'm telling you, I don't know anything! He called last drinks. I paid my tab and I left. That's the last I saw him. Look, I liked him. He was a good soldier.”

“ Alright, alright Vincent,” the second, shorter interviewer, seated opposite, spoke in a gentler tone. “How about we give you a couple of minutes? You look like you need a bit of time to compose yourself, huh?”

Good cop, bad cop. Sometimes adhering to cliches was necessary.

The two agents stood up and walked out of the room, moving through the small booth beyond and glaring at the profilers who had been watching the interview, from behind the two way mirror.

Spencer already knew that what he was about to do, wasn't going to cause him to be any more popular than he already was, with them.

“Turn off the camera,” he ordered JJ, standing next to him. “This is not an official interrogation, so-”

The agents shook their heads. “As though you will do any better. Look barely old enough to fill a diaper.”

“Actually, I'm thirty f-” Spencer began, only to stop, from the shake of Hotch's head, to his left.

“Anyway...” He stepped to the door, turned the handle, took a deep breath and stepped out of the small booth and into the interview room.

“Vincent...” He sat down opposite him. “My name is Spencer.”

Vincent's eyes skittered over the formica table between them.

“I just have a few questions,” he pulled out a photo of Jamie and Agent Carlson, standing next to each other, at what looked to be some kind of barbecue. “Have you ever seen this man?”

The dull muddy eyes flicked up, briefly, at the photo. “A few times.”

“What was he doing, when you saw him?”

“He was talking to Jamie.”

“It's ok, Vincent. You liked Jamie, I can tell. If you talk to me, then we can get closer to finding the person who took his life.”

“Do you think this man may be involved?”

“What did you see, Vincent?” Spencer deliberately kept his voice gentle, calm. He could see Vincent's demeanour change slightly, the shoulders relax, jaw unclench.

“There was one time, in the pub. He wasn't officially open, but it was his birthday. I borrowed the key to the front door, off the manager, was planning to surprise Jamie with a present. Jamie wasn't at the counter, so I decided to go out back and find him. I saw him and this man, in the storage room... talking, no arguing.”

“About?”

“I'm not sure. But it almost sounded like...Jamie was saying he didn't want him to be there. And this guy he... said something about it being too dangerous for Jamie. That he wanted him to pull out. I have no idea what he was arguing about. Then Jamie... Jamie... I had no idea that Jamie was a fag. I mean to look at the guy...”

“What did Jamie do?”

“Jamie started kissing the guy. I mean it was sick! I got out of there, quick smart.”

*

“This is preposterous!” Richard Carlson was now the one in the interview room. “There is no evidence whatsoever to back up these allegations! I'm a married man. Furthermore, if Campbell thought Jamie was having a homosexual affair, that gave him more of a motive to kill him, wouldn't you say? Given his level of homophobia?”

“Campbell wasn't the only one who verified the affair between you and Agent Scarpetta,” Hotch said. “Two other agents have also come forward, to verify the affair, citing being bullied and intimidated into not coming forward. Right now, we have forensics at your house, combing for forensic evidence, linking you with Scarpetta. What happened? He wanted to call it off, right?”

As Spencer watched this interaction, from behind the two-way glass, he felt eyes on him. He turned, to catch Morgan, standing beside Rossi and favouring him with an opaque, closed expression.

“But you didn’t want to. So you became enraged, took out a knife, and stabbed him. Repeatedly.”

“Preposterous...” Carlson shook his head.

Spencer knew that Hotch was now going to play the trump card, courtesy of Garcia.

“Our original background check on you didn't yield much information. All in all, you seemed to lead an exemplary life. So we dug deeper. Found a file, from your school years that had been blacked out. What did you do, Agent Carlson? What other person, or child, was a party to your rage?”

For a moment, all of the colour seemed to drain from Carlson's face, before he placed his head in his hands and began to weep.

In that instance, JJ's mobile rang. She listened a few seconds.

“Thank you.”

She then turned to her colleagues, beside her.

“They found clothes with blood flecks on them. Carlson had attempted to wash the blood off. They're being sent for testing, right now.”

“I want my lawyer,” In the interview room, Carlson erected his spine and wiped his eyes, his face steeled, once again.

*  
After the blood flecks on Carlson's clothing did, indeed turn out to be from Jamie Scarpetta, Agent Carlson spoke to his lawyer, then agreed to confess, to cut a plea bargain. By this time, the agents were already on their plane, back to Virginia. They heard the news from Morgan's friend, who told Morgan in a hollow sounding voice. Spencer suspected that Morgan would not see any more of that particular friend, any time soon.

As for Morgan, himself, he had not spoken to Spencer, since the odd look in the booth. Morgan had took a different car from him to the jet, then sat down at the back, three seats behind him.

Even back at Virginia, as the group silently made their way out of the office, Morgan did not utter a single word to him. Spencer found it terribly difficult not to take it personally.

Seated in the car now, next to Hotch, speeding along the freeway to his lover's house, he tried to ignore the hurt cutting into him.

“You did very well, today,” Hotch said. “I'm proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Spencer said, dully. He considered telling Hotch about the conversation with Morgan in the bathroom. But decided against it, fearful that it would inflame Hotch's already misguided jealousy.

Having an eidetic memory was truly, a horror, at times. He recounted the words that Morgan said, even without wanting to. Deliberately having loud sex with Hotch to make him jealous? Spencer shuddered, gritting his teeth. Humiliation and shame had now given way to anger.

To begin with, when it came to his relationship with Morgan, having an eidetic memory was incredible, if not extremely distracting. He could recount every facet of their sex life, even when he wasn't with him. Morgan seemed to regard sex as a school and Spencer was more than eager to learn.

Morgan wasn't embarrassed to ask for what he wanted, and Spencer was always more than happy to oblige. He had relished in the feel of taking Morgan's penis into his mouth, or in, or against other areas of his body (no, cock, he reminded himself. That was what Morgan always called it; _“Suck my cock,” “Jerk my cock, pretty boy”_ _“I want your cock inside me.”_ ), or to explore other parts of Morgan's body; taking almost scientific interest in how a nipple felt, when it hardened inside his lips, or the varying ways in which a penis inside him could feel, depending on the angle. It had felt so dirty, so sexy... Spencer always found himself fully erect before the fun had even begun. Morgan constantly wanted to try new positions or attempt crazy new antics. He never asked for anything that would cause pain, to either party. But some of the shenanigans could be considered dangerous, such as when he had attempted to penetrate Spencer, while he planted his hands on the floor in a crazy handstand. That didn’t go so well as planned.

However, from early on in the relationship, Spencer started formulating patterns, in his mind. Morgan didn’t seem to like positions in which they were facing each other. Morgan rarely kissed him on the mouth. If he did, it would be before sexual intercourse and not during. If anything, Morgan was quick to get to the main act. As their sexual relationship progressed further, even that began to be a pattern. If Morgan was penetrating Spencer, it started to be always with Spencer facing away from him, usually in doggy style position. Spencer had enjoyed it, at the time, so why, thinking back on it now, did shame creep up his body? No, he couldn’t lie to himself. At the time, as much as he was intellectually, and even sexually stimulated by what was being done to him, a part of him felt embarrassed, even shamed for being used, in such a way.

_Like his whore._

Inexplicably, he felt hot tears pick the corners of his eyelids. He turned, and faced the window, seeing Hotch's street sign, as the car turned into the familiar road.

“What's wrong?” Hotch asked.

Spencer shook his head. Too late, a tear slipped down his face. He hastily wiped it away.

Hotch pulled into his driveway and stopped the vehicle. Spencer could sense him waiting.

“Morgan... he overhead us, last night.”

“Oh... oh no...” Any suspicions that Spencer had that Hotch had deliberately planned the loud sex, to make Morgan jealous, instantly evaporated. He had never seen his superior flush so brightly. Hotch put his head momentarily in his hands, then threw it back and started laughing. “Oh... now that _is_ embarrassing! What did he say?”

His mirth died at the look on Spencer's face. He didn't see any amusement in what happened.

“He accused me of deliberately trying to make him feel jealous. I told him he was completely wrong. I was with my boyfriend and I got carried away. I told him that I’m not with him any more. I'm with you. I love you.”

A hard look came into Hotch's eyes. “And what did he say?”

Spencer had long decided not to lie to Hotch.

“He said he accepted that I was with you but that it didn't make it any easier, to see us together. He told me it was his problem, not mine. I agreed that it wasn't my problem.”

Hotch reached across and gently ran his hands through Spencer's hair, his expression softening. “Come on, let's go inside.”

*

Hotch settled down on the couch next to Spencer, placing a glass of wine in Spencer's hand, as he rested his own on his knee. Spencer nestled closer, placing his spare arm gently around Hotch's waist, intrigued by the feel of his jutting hip bone. People constantly told him how slight he was, that he needed to eat more. It had never occurred to him that Hotch had a similar body type to his own. Perhaps it was that Hotch's strong, powerful personality silenced anyone who wished to make any inappropriate comments about his body.

Spencer's mind went back to the first time that he and Hotch spent the night together; Hotch's lips, so soft on his neck. No one had ever kissed him there, before. Hotch's hands, gently roaming his body, the whispered words in his ear, telling him that he was beautiful, that Hotch had wanted to make love to him for a long time. He recalled the flutter of excitement, in his stomach, when he heard Hotch's deep, even breathing beside him, as he fell asleep.

His mind then went to waking up the next morning, to an empty bed; the feeling of momentary disappointment that Hotch had deserted him, while he was sleeping. He then recalled how the ill emotions fled, before happy, more productive emotions flooded in, at the sight of Hotch, standing by the bed with the breakfast tray.

“Are you worried about Morgan?” Hotch asked now, interrupting his thoughts.

“I don't care about Morgan!” It came out a little harsher than he'd intended.

“Spencer, you like Morgan-”

“Do you want sex?” He asked, to change the conversation.

Hotch looked strangely affronted, but there was a gentleness in the warm brown eyes, also.

“He asked you to cheat on me, with him, didn't he?”

Spencer nodded, feeling his eyes prick with tears, once more.

“This isn't to do with you, you know that, right? Morgan clearly has... issues, when it comes to sexual relationships.”

“It's my fault-”

“Spencer-”

“I allowed him to treat me this way. I even cheated on you, with him, remember?”

“And I forgave you. Because I realised that you made a mistake. And could see, from your expression, when you came to my house, that morning, that you wouldn't risk the relationship, again.”

“I don't deserve you,” Spencer said, pulling away. “I let Morgan treat me like a, like a whore. I even enjoyed it!”

“There is nothing wrong with wanting intimacy from someone, or enjoying sexual relations. Spencer,” Hotch leant forward and tenderly cupped his jaw, forcing Spencer to look him in the eyes. Hotch's eyelashes were incredibly dark and long. Spencer found himself to be mesmerised by each, individual lash. Hotch sighed, lips twisting up into the kind of smile that Spencer knew was only reserved for him. “I know I sound like a broken record, but you really are exquisitely beautiful. Like a piece of artwork. Sometimes I think you can't be real.”

“Hotch...”

“Just answer me this. Do you love me?”

“Of course I do! But-”

Hotch leant in and kissed him on the lips. “But nothing. I love you too.”

He favoured Spencer with his megawatt smile once more, and Spencer became undone.

Within minutes, Spencer found himself naked and lying on his back, on the couch, An equally naked Hotch was sucking eagerly on his erection. Spencer groaned, thrusting up in time to Hotch's movements, needing more.

He fumbled around the cushions for the lube they'd left the last time they'd made love on the couch. Finally locating it, he placed it in Hotch's hand. Hotch then spent no time in squeezing the liquid onto his fingers and gently entering him, pressing up against his prostate. Spencer could hear his groans growing louder, the combined pleasure of both Hotch's mouth and fingers almost too much to bear.

“Please, please, make love to me, please...” He whispered. Hotch reacted by kissing up his body, to his mouth, eagerly thrusting his tongue inside, as he grabbed one of Spencer's legs and hoisted it up around his waist. Duelling his tongue with his lover's, Spencer complied with his other leg, while pouring the lube onto his hand and coating Hotch's own erection with it. Hotch started to enter him, as usual, slowly, carefully. Facing him, always facing him, so he could kiss his lips, as he was enacting now, whisper in his ear, endearments, not crude, like Morgan used to say ( _“...that's it, pretty boy, moan for me, let me know how much you love taking my cock!”_ ) but, rather, little broken phrases, as though he was too disjointed in his own mind, to put the words together properly.

“Beautiful... you're so...please... oh... Spencer....”

They started to move, slowly, together. Spencer tore his mouth from Hotch's to kiss his neck, run his hands up and down his chest, rub his nipples. Hotch moaned louder, gently grabbed Spencer's face, to kiss him on the lips once more.

Hotch came first, biting down into his neck and crying out, brokenly, as Spencer felt the familiar rush of warmth within him. As he collapsed against Spencer, breathing harshly, Spencer felt his own orgasm overtake. He thrust up and down, eager for the already deflating penis inside of him. It wasn't until the bliss had departed, that he realised that Hotch had been whispering to him, telling him how beautiful he looked, when he orgasmed. For a moment, both lay together, exhausted, sated, before, Hotch slowly pulled out and up, reaching for his clothes. Spencer sat up and started gathering his own, from where they'd flung them, in their haste.

“Jack will be dropped off at 10am tomorrow.” Hotch said, picking up the two wine glasses. Spencer watched him go into the other room, before reappearing. Hotch then looked at him and frowned. “You don't have a change of clothes, do you?” He came forward and pecked him on the lips. “As adorable as you will be, in a pair of my pyjamas tonight, I think tomorrow, we'd better get up early and go to yours, and bring some of your own clothes over, what do you think? Maybe a toothbrush, as well?”

“I think that's a good idea,” Spencer said. _Is this the start of me moving in here?_

Hotch grabbed his hand, pulled him up. Both walked together down the hall and into the bedroom. Spencer could feel Hotch's semen start to slide down his upper inner thigh. Rather than feeling humiliated, he felt empowered. He looked down and saw some of his own on his stomach. Most of the whitish substance was on Hotch's stomach.

“Do we need a shower, you think?” Spencer didn't want to admit, to Hotch, that the sight of the proof of his passions on his superior's stomach, was rather tantalising.

“If you'd like one.”

“I don't mind,” Spencer said, as they reached Hotch's room. “I like feeling your semen on me. In me.”

Morgan had loved hearing him say that, or even cruder words. In fact, Spencer talking crudely about the sex they had just had, would often lead to even more sex.

Hotch didn't say a word, simply grabbed the clothes out of Spencer's hands and threw them, as well as his own, into the clothes basket, at the side of the room.

“I'll get you some pyjamas.” Hotch said, walking to the chest of drawers and opening the top drawer.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Hotch came up with a pair of blue pyjamas and held them out towards Spencer.

“What's wrong?”

He noticed that Hotch's hand was shaking, a little.

“Hotch what's wrong?”

Hotch's eyes appeared very bright.

“No secrets between us, right?” He took a deep breath. Clearly, the words that he was about to say, were difficult, for him. “Foyett... he told me what he was going to do. That he was going to... ejaculate inside me. And I would be helpless to stop him. Even while he was... he kept talking to me. Taunting me. When it was over, he told me that I secretly wanted it. But, with you, I love... when we make love, it feels so intimate, so... real. I never thought I could be with another man, after Foyett.”

Spencer took the pyjamas from him and threw them on the bed, then grabbed his hands. They felt very clammy.

“Notice you just said 'make love'. Because that is what we do. It's the manifestation of our love, for each other. With Foyett, you know it was about humiliating you, the cruellest way he could think of.”

“I know. Of course I do. I'm sorry.”

“It's ok.”

“The thought of doing anything to hurt you or humiliate you-”

“It's ok. I trust you,” Spencer was amazed that this man, who was always so unruffled in his professional life, could display such uncertainty. “Come on, let's go to bed.”

Change. Toilet. Sound of Hotch in the bathroom. Teeth brushing. Hotch lying beside him. The warmth on his back, breath across his neck, arm around his waist.

“It goes both ways, you know. The thought of what that man did to you...Hurting you in such a way...”

Hotch was silent a long time. Spencer thought that perhaps he'd fallen asleep. “I want to be with you. In every way possible. Just, give me time.”

“There's no rush,” Spencer said.

He felt Hotch's soft lips on his ear. “Damn, I love you. Exquisitely beautiful man.”

Spencer smiled a little to himself, almost a little afraid of how overwhelmingly happy he felt, in that moment.

Tbc....


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all reading/comments/kudos. :)
> 
> Some smut, angst and fluff in this chapter... so the usual... 
> 
> Enjoy!

Mindful of time constraints, Spencer pulled open his wardrobe and yanked his favourite brown coat, as well as a few of his neatly pressed pants and shirts, off their hangers, before turning to carefully place them into the small case, lying open on the bed. He then crossed to his chest-of-drawers, opened the top drawer, and grabbed a few pairs of underwear and socks, throwing them into the case, then closed the drawer and opened the bottom one, pulling out three vests and some more folded up shirts and pyjamas From there, he went to the bathroom and grabbed his toothbrush, comb and razor, threw them on top of the clothes and zipped up the case.

“Ok, that should be everything,” he called out to Hotch, as he lifted the case and carried it out of his room and into the lounge room. The other man sat down on the couch, an open book in his hand, amusement softening his features. No, upon closer inspection, that wasn't a book, that he was currently looking at, with such fondness. Hotch must have really scrutinised his bookcase, well, indeed. His photo album was right at the bottom, under a pile of heavy books.

“You know,” Hotch patted the seat next to him. A little disgruntled, Spencer obliged. “I can't decide which is more cute; this one,” he flipped open the first page, to a photo of Spencer as a new born, eyes impossibly wide, fingers curled up towards his chin. “Or,” he flicked through the pages once more, “this one.” This time, the photo was of a six year old Spencer in his primary school uniform, standing in front of the entrance to the school and grinning so wide that all three of his missing upper front baby teeth were obvious. Spencer's eyes travelled across the page, to the photo alongside the one Hotch was pointing to. This one was of his mother, standing on a beach in a bikini, with young, smirking Spencer before her. Spencer felt a slight pang, upon seeing the photo.

“But, of all of them, I'd say,” Hotch started going through the album again, arriving at a page showing Spencer, of age about thirteen, seated before a desk, with a 2001: A Space Odyssey poster on the wall behind him. His face was turned before the camera, his expression set in a scowl. “This one is my favourite. It shows the famous Spencer Reid scowl, when something is bothering him.”

“I don't scowl!” Spencer said.

“You're doing it right now,” Hotch grinned, closing the album. “Alright, ready to go?”

*

“I think if we look at the supersymmetry between bosons and fermions, then the thermodynamics in black holes, are more easily observed, particularly if we consider-” Spencer chatted merrily away, as he and Hotch walked into Hotch's house.

“Spencer, I have to be honest,” Hotch said, closing the door behind them. “I have been unable to follow a word that you've said, for the last fifteen minutes.”

“Oh...well, maybe I could try and simplify a bit...” Spencer said.

Hotch smiled, shaking his head. “That's ok.”

Spencer waited until they reached Hotch's room, and he had placed his case on the bed, before asking.

“If you weren't following what I was saying, why didn't you tell me?”

Hotch sat down on the bed next to the case and shrugged. “I don't think, even if you did try to explain to to me, that I would be able to follow. Besides, you were clearly so passionate about the subject. I didn't feel as though I could interrupt.”

Spencer bent down to unzip his case, bringing up his toothbrush and brush and feeling his face flush. Well, that makes me feel strangely like a bit of an idiot, he thought, as he went to the ensuite and placed both items on the sink, inside, before retreating back to the bedroom. He looked at the digital clock radio, next to the bed. The time read 9.52am.

“I have time to have a shower,” he mused, more to himself, deliberately changing the subject. In the morning, he'd been forced to dress back into the clothes that Hotch had thrown into the wash basket, the night before and was now looking forward to changing into cleaner clothes.

“You can undress here, if you like...” Hotch said, grinning.

“Oh really?” Spencer said, grabbing his jumper and throwing it over his head. Hotch stood up from the bed and went to him, pulling their bodies together and voraciously kissing his neck, as he unzipped his trousers and snaked his hand inside, jerking Spencer to hardness within a few strokes.

_So he was being serious..._

Spencer tore Hotch's t-shirt up, so he could trail his hands all over his chest, running his hand through the soft chest hair and pinching at his nipples, deciding that he didn't mind at all about Hotch's 'seriousness'. Hotch gently moved him back, until he felt his waist hit the chest of drawers, behind them.

“I want to make love to you, right here, right on top of this chest of drawers,” Hotch murmured into his neck. Spencer looked at the clock again. It was now 9.53. Spencer supposed they should be mindful of the fact that they were going to have visitors in seven minutes. Only, he realised that he didn't care. In response to Hotch's request, he reached back and started clearing the dresser of items; framed photos and trinkets crashing to the floor, before jumping up and sitting on the surface. Hotch stood back, tore his tshirt up and over his head, then walked over to the bedroom dresser. In the short time that he'd gone over, then came back with the lube, Spencer had hastily pulled down his trousers and boxers and thrown them down to the ground, followed by his t-shirt.

Hotch looked at his naked, trembling body and sighed.

“You-” He lifted Spencer's left foot and kissed it.

“-are-” He then bent lower and kissed his left ankle.

“-so-” Hotch knelt down on the ground, kissing Spencer's knee.

“-gorgeous-” Spencer felt lips on his inner thigh, a hand stroking further up.

Hotch then replaced the hand with his mouth, demonstrating his rather talented lips and tongue, while he coated his two fingers with lube and pressed them inside his lover. Spencer's breath quickened. He looked at the clock. It was now 9.56am. At 9.58, he could bear it no longer and started begging Hotch to make love to him. Hotch responded by standing, pulling down his own jeans and boxers to his knees, moving Spencer's legs until they were hooked up around his shoulders, then slowly entering him. As he started to thrust, he used one hand to slide up and down Spencer's thighs and stomach, the other continuing to stroke his hardness. Spencer found he had to grip both edges of the dresser to keep them both from falling to the ground. He could hear the jolt of the dresser, with every movement. It felt sexy somehow...even more alluring than their usual lovemaking, in the comfort of the bed.

“So good...Keep going...” Spencer sighed.

He allowed the pure feelings of utter pleasure overtaking his body, hearing Hotch's soothing whispers, believing him when he told him how beautiful he looked, how loved he was. Spencer threw his head back and gasped as he felt himself being ultimately overcome

“Damn, I love you...” Hotch whispered into Spencer's ear, as Spencer allowed himself to be brought straight over the edge, into realms of pure bliss, crying out, in ecstasy. He moaned, as he felt himself come down.

When the sound occurred, Spencer felt so mellowed, that it took a moment, to recognise what it was.

“Doorbell,” he gasped, still panting.

“No, she's always late,” Hotch said, still not slowing down with his movements. Hotch took his hand away from Spencer's thigh, leant forward, unhooked the foot from around his shoulder and kissed his knee, before hooking it around his shoulder once more. The door bell rang again.

“I'd say that's the doorbell,” Spencer grinned up at him. Hotch's face was now pink, a line of sweat dripping down his forehead. He was looking down at Spencer with such intensity, as though memorising every contour of his face.

_Oh my... that is beautiful..._

If Spencer wasn't already utterly spent, he was certain that the sight would cause him to already be erect, again.

Hotch leant forward and kissed him on the mouth, tongue ferociously exploring, before he trailed his tongue down to kiss his neck, once more, one hand stroking his thigh, the other reaching up to stroke his face; trailing up his cheek, across his jaw, up the other cheek. Hearing Hotch's moans, as he continued to thrust within him, Spencer realised that the touches that Hotch made to his body, were not entirely for him. After all, he had already orgasmed. No, it suddenly came to him, the gentle strokes to his face and thigh, the kisses and licks to his neck, the tongue now sucking gently on his ear, were also for Hotch, himself. Hotch needed not only to have sexual intercourse with him, but also to touch and kiss him, in order to achieve orgasm. Spencer told himself that that probably wasn't a revelation, to other people. After all, theoretically, eroticism, while making love, was just as much about wanting to touch the other's body as one's own. However, he only really had two other men to compare to, both of whom only seemed to see touching and kissing as foreplay to the simple act of thrusting in and out of his body (or, in the case of Morgan, allowing Spencer to also do it to him).

The buzz of Hotch's mobile sounded. Spencer turned his head and glanced at the time. It was now 10.03am. No matter, from Hotch's increased groans and more erratic movements, he would finish soon. Not that Spencer entirely wanted him to. He lazily reached his hand up and down his back, feeling the sweat slick his hands, the muscles contracting with movement. Hotch's mouth moved to his and he responded eagerly, clashing their tongues together, as he reached down to grab at his buttock, feeling the movement within him start to increase even more, at the touch. Spencer could hear Hotch gasping and moaning into his mouth, felt the warmth of his ejaculate inside him and held him through the tremors of coming down from what he assumed to be a pretty intense orgasm. Hotch tore away from his mouth, looked up and grinned at him. He unhooked one of Spencer’s legs and kissed him on the ankle, as he tenderly moved out. Spencer unhooked his other and allowed them to drop to the ground.

“I really hope that wasn't her,” Hotch said, moving to his satchel, where the mobile phone again buzzed. He pulled it out and swore. “She's early. For the first time.”

Spencer had never seen Hotch dress so quickly. Within thirty seconds, he'd thrown his clothes back on, along with his dressing gown, over the top. For a moment, looking at the still naked, slightly shaking Spencer, his franticness seemed to resolve. He came forward and kissed him on the lips.

“Grab that shower you wanted,” Hotch said. “I need to get some breakfast for Jack, before I can go.”

“Hotch...” Spencer began, as Hotch started to walk out of the room. “Why did you just make love to me? What I mean is, you knew that we didn't have much time...”

Hotch shook his head, smiled. “I'm not sure. You were just being so adorable in the car... all I could think about was how much it made me want to kiss you. And then go onto other things.”

“You mean... when I was talking about string theory and you didn't understand a word of what I was saying?”

“Yes, exactly,” Hotch then left the room, leaving Spencer to shake his own head.

*  
Spencer stood before the door separating the hall from the kitchen, lounge and dining rooms, his hand on the knob. He could hear Jack's voice beyond, the sound of dishes clanking, of scuffling shoes. Had Hotch told Jack that he was there? Surely so. Did Jack truly _want_ him to be there? Perhaps Jack simply wanted to spend time with his father.

Feeling that he could hesitate no longer, Spencer turned the knob and entered the room. Jack was seated at the dining table, a glass of orange juice before him.

“Spencer!” He said. “I was just saying to dad, did you know where we went, yesterday, in class?”

“No, where?” Spencer glanced at Hotch, who stood over the kitchen stove, pouring what looked to be pancake mixture into a fry pan.

“The science museum! We watched this documentary about the universe and how there's a lot of dark matter! Like so much and the universe, it's so big. Like so phenomenally big! Like you can't even imagine. Billions upon billions upon billions of stars out there!” He was talking very fast and with such enthusiasm that Spencer couldn’t help but smile a little, in return.

“Sounds great! Did you learn about dark energy? That's what's theorised to be causing the universe to expand.” Mindful of his one-sided conversation with Hotch that morning, he decided not to go into the specifics as to how dark matter worked and just to leave it there.

Jack's eyes widened. “That's so cool!”

“Did they tell you about the 'Big Bang Theory'?”

“Yeah, that's the theory that the universe started with a big bang! Awesome!” Jack said.

Well, that's a very simplified version, Spencer thought, but declined to correct him.

“There's also a Big Crunch Theory, that the universe will start to go the opposite way,” Spencer endeavoured to simplify the theory as best as he could.

“You mean, everything would go backwards?”

In that instant, Hotch came up to the table, carrying two plates of pancakes, and placing them before Spencer and Jack. Spencer suddenly noticed that the condiments; jam, maple syrup and honey were already on the table. Jack instantly picked up the maple syrup. Before Hotch left, he leant down and gave Spencer a brief kiss on top of his head, then ruffled his hair. Spencer sat, stunned a moment, that his boyfriend had acted so affectionately in front of his own son.

“Huh?” He suddenly realised that Jack had not reacted in the slightest to the kiss, in fact was still drowning the pancakes in maple syrup, as he asked him a question that he, evidentially, had not heard.

“How does that work?”

“Oh...” Spencer blinked, then reached for the honey, as he tried hard to simplify his extensive knowledge of the theory, in a way that a child could understand.

*

After breakfast, while Hotch had a shower, Spencer and Jack settled down next to each other on the lounge, with a book on star systems that Jack had bought from the museum. After about twenty minutes, Hotch came out with his lap top in hand, sat down opposite Spencer and Jack and started to tap away on the machine. Every so often, as Jack spoke about his new book, Hotch would look up, and watch them. Spencer, who was more than happy to impart Jack his knowledge, had the impression that Hotch wanted them to spend time together.

(Spencer was also determined to not think about the fact that this was the same sofa, upon which he and Hotch had made love... more than once.... No, he was definitely not going to think about that. Not appropriate, he told himself.)

After going through the book, Jack requested that Spencer play on his playstation with him. Spencer, who had no knowledge of video games, then proceeded to be utterly thrashed, with every one they played. After he started to work out the mathematical principles by which Mario Kart ran, and was starting to apply them to the game, Hotch stood up and announced that they would have to pack up the playstation, because Jack had a baseball game to get ready for.

“Spencer's coming too, isn't he?” Jack said, with a hopeful tone.

“I don't know. You'll have to ask him,” Hotch said.

“Will you go to my baseball game? It's the semi-finals,” he sounded a little shy.

“Sure, sounds fun,” Spencer said.

“Great!” Jack's smile did, indeed look genuine.

*

Eighteen minutes later, they arrived at a small park, full of children already in their baseball outfits; some were swinging bats around, others throwing balls to each other. A few adults were seated around the outside, in camp chairs. Many of the adults were still fussing over their children.

Hotch clamped a hand over Jack's shoulder and directed him over to a group of children dressed in the same white uniform, grouped around a sandy haired man.

“I'll go speak to the coach. You find a spot to sit, over there, Spencer,” he gestured to the grass area , that sat at the edge of the field, in front of the playground equipment, then abruptly turned and walked in the opposite direction. Feeling a little awkward (and certain that a few people were looking at him curiously), Spencer started to make his way to that area.

“What a rude bastard!I don't believe it!”

A curly haired brunette woman who looked to be in her mid-fifties, was suddenly standing before Spencer, a grey-haired man of about the same age beside her.

“Hotch left you, didn't he, to stand awkwardly amongst a bunch of people that you don't know?” She held out her hand. “Carol, this is Tom.” She nodded at the man beside her.

“Oh...” Spencer shook her hand. “Spencer.”

“Come on, Spencer. Come sit with us. We've already got the champagne flowing.”

She indicated a spot a few metres to his left, where a picnic blanket was laid out, along with a small silver bucket containing two bottles of champagne.

“So, you know Hotch?” Spencer said, following them to the picnic blanket. He decided not to remark about the morality of bringing champagne to a childrens' baseball match.

“Oh very much so. Knew him from his days as a lawyer. Often opposing him,” she said. “Please, sit down.”

“Oh, thank you,” he still felt a little awkward, as he sat down, at the very edge of the blanket.

“So you work with Hotch, I take it?” Tom asked.

“'I work for the FBI, yes.”

“Ah profiler! Must be interesting work... As well as pretty horrific, at times, I'd bet.” Tom said.

In that moment, Hotch ambled over.

“I was just telling Spencer here, what a terrible person you are, for leaving him by himself,” Carol said.

“Well,” Hotch sat down beside Spencer. “I saw you two and knew that you would feel compelled to speak to him, so...” he smiled.

*

In the car, on the way over, Hotch had told Spencer that Jack was a great player. Hotch was right. He was, indeed, a very good pitcher, at the very least. Far superior than himself, based on the last practise he'd had with Morgan. By the quarter mark time, Jack had struck out four players of the opposing team.

By the three quarter mark, Spencer realised that he was feeling a rather pressing need to use the bathroom, courtesy of the champagne that Carol insisted on filling his glass with. He had expected to feel awkward around Hotch's friends but instead they were very welcoming, asking him about his life and seeming to be interested in the answers. Hotch, for his part, said very little.

“It must be nice to finally see a game of Jack's. With the hours that you keep-” Tom was saying, to Hotch.

“I'm sorry,” Spencer interrupted. “Is there a toilet around here?”

“Sure!” Tom said. “See that building over there?” He pointed to a red bricked square building a good fifty metres away. “Public toilets there.”

“Thank you.”

Spencer took to the toilet almost at a run. After rushing inside and completing his business, he felt sated.

He washed his hands and made his way back to the group, thinking about how intrigued he felt, to know more about Hotch and Carol's time together, as (in her words) often opposing lawyers.

As he approached, a few metres behind, stomach jolting with pleasure, at the sight of Hotch's short black hair, he overheard their conversation.

“-the man's a genius, so he's far more intelligent than you. Also, he's young, gorgeous! _Insanely_ gorgeous. _Too_ gorgeous for you,” Carol was saying to Hotch.

Spencer stopped, mid-step, feeling his stomach twist. He didn't need his genius to know that they were talking about him.

“Hey, don't you be putting down my man Aaron. He's one handsome dude!” Tom said.

Spencer wasn't sure whether to interrupt or to go away and not hear what they had to say. He stood, rooted to the spot, unable to turn away, feeling somewhat mortified.

“No, but seriously,” Carol said. “I like Spencer. He comes across as very sweet.”

“I like him too,” Tom said.

“I'm glad you two said that. It's important to me that you like him,” Hotch said, his voice rather low.

“You really love this one, don't you?” Carol said. “I can tell. You have a glow about you. It's lovely to see. You deserve to be happy.”

“He's... I'm crazy about him,” Hotch said. Spencer felt a simultaneous feeling of extreme joy, as well as extreme terror, as though his heart had been both mended, and ruptured, at Hotch's words. He moved a few metres back, counted to a minute, in his head, then moved forward. Thankfully, by the time he reached them, they had moved on, to talking about the game before them.

“There you are!” Carol said. “More champagne?”

Spencer shook his head, needing to keep a clear mind, to sort through what how he felt about what he had just heard.

*

After the game, Carol and Tom asked Hotch if it was ok if Jack spent dinner at theirs. Their own son was having a birthday party. Spencer had the distinct impression that this wasn't entirely the truth. Hotch, no idiot himself, appeared a little disgruntled but said yes.

After saying goodbye, Hotch and Spencer walked silently to the car together. Spencer waited until Hotch threw Jack's gear in the back and both got into the front seats, before talking.

“I'm pretty tired. I think I'll go back to mine tonight, if that's ok,” Spencer said.

“Oh... if that's what you want...” Hotch said, looking surprised.

“Yes, if that's alright.”

“Everything alright?” Hotch asked.

“Sure!”

“Ok, I'll give you a lift, there,” Hotch said. He turned the ignition.

*

Seventeen minutes later, Hotch pulled up in front of his apartment block, turning off the ignition. Both had been silent, the entire way there. Hotch was quiet a few seconds longer, his face affixed in the kind of serious expression that Spencer knew, from experience, meant that he was pondering an issue of great importance.

“Spencer... I would hope that if something was wrong that you'd feel you'd trust me enough to say.”

Spencer wasn't sure even how to put what he was feeling into words. He knew that he was naive when it came to relationships, but he was aware what that day was. Meeting Hotch's friends, bonding with his son... it was all too much. He wasn't sure if he could handle this. Hotch saying he was crazy about him. Why? What was so great about awkward, kooky Spencer Reid?

“Why did you invite me to that softball match, today?” He asked.

“I didn't invite you. Jack did.” All of the humour left Hotch's face, at the serious look on Spencer's.

“Alright...” Hotch began and grimaced, the intelligence working through the dark eyes. “I think I know what's going on. I understand. You're new to all of this. It's alright to be scared. And when you're scared, the first impulse is to run away,” Hotch said, hands gently folded in his lap.

Spencer found himself being amazed at how accurately Hotch had put how he felt, into words. But then, it was his job.

 “You're right,” Spencer admitted, looking down at the folded hands, the beautiful long fingers. “Everything is moving so fast and I'm scared that it's all going to unravel, somehow.”

“If you want to slow down-”

“No, I don't want to do that!” Spencer saw the query in Hotch's eyes and inwardly relented.

“I overheard you talking, when I came back from the toilets. Carol and Tom were saying that they liked me, which was nice. I like them too. And I heard you say that you were crazy about me.”

“I am,” Hotch said, simply. “I thought that was obvious. I'll be honest. They are two of my closest friends. They knew I was seeing someone new, from work. They knew it was a man. But they didn't know that I'd be bringing you to the game.”

“Who else knows about me?”

“No one else that you already know about,” Hotch said.

Spencer felt an odd emotion come over him, a mixture of exhilaration, fear and sorrow.

“Tell me what's wrong,” Hotch asked, voice soothing.

“You're talking as though I'm amazing, like I'm the best thing ever. But you're wrong.” He felt his eyes sting with tears. “You'll discover that I'm weird and awkward. And I don't-”

“Oh you're definitely not perfect,” Hotch said, stopping Spencer's rant instantly. “You are a little awkward. You go on about things long before you've realise that people have lost interest. You pick weird conversations sometimes that completely throw people off. You can't loop a tie to save your life. You can’t seem to decide on a hairstyle that suits you. Luckily you're so beautiful, it doesn't matter. I love these things about you! It's finding these little imperfections that make me love you even more.”

Spencer felt the tears run down his cheeks. “I don't deserve you. You're so...everything about you is so amazing, I can't even-”

“Oh not back to this again. You know, I'm not exactly Mr. Perfect, myself.”

“To me, you're pretty close,” Spencer said, truthfully.

“Just answer me this. Are you happy?”

“I am happy. So happy,” Spencer said, more tears running down his face. “Last night, I fell asleep thinking about how happy I am.”

“So why on earth are you crying?” Hotch said, smiling. “Listen, you can feel scared. That's normal. But you have a right to be happy. We both do.”

Spencer leant forward and pressed their lips together, hungrily needing the affection.

“I had fun today,” he admitted, as they released.

“I'm glad.”

“You know...” Spencer gulped. “I'm... kind of crazy about you too. I think that's what scares me.”

Hotch's entire face lit up, causing Spencer's stomach to do a little flip flop.

“There you go. That's how simple it is. So, what do you want to do? If you still want to stay at yours tonight, that's fine. I totally understand-”

“I want to go back to yours,” Spencer said, quickly.

“You sure?”

“I'm sure.”

Hotch turned on the ignition.

“I'm sorry about all of this...” Spencer said.

“No need to apologise whatsoever,” Hotch said, pulling into the street.

“Your friends, they deliberately took Jack, didn't they? To give us some time alone together.”

“I suspect so, yes,” Hotch said.

*  
The lovemaking was, as usual, slow, tender and extremely passionate. A thoroughly sated Spencer now lay on his back, on the sofa, legs and arms wrapped around the still trembling Hotch, who was pressing tiny little kisses along his shoulder.

Spencer had initiated the lovemaking. As soon as they entered the loungeroom, he had turned around, knelt and hastily undid Hotch's jeans. It didn't take long at all, before his mouth and tongue caused Hotch to whimper with desire.

He's crazy about me, Spencer thought, now, smiling to himself.

Hotch's mobile phone going off spooked them both, causing both to flinch.

“Damn it!” Hotch said, slowly disentangling himself from Spencer, as Spencer laughed. “I'd better answer. It might be Jack.”

Spencer watched him walk naked to the foyer, where he'd dumped his mobile phone,, admiring his form; the long limbs, the curves of his body, even the pink marks where he had been stabbed created a masterpiece, for Spencer.

“It's Dave,” he said, picking up the mobile and looking at the screen. He then placed the mobile to his ear. “Hey, Dave....Jack? Actually, he's spending the night at a friends...” Hotch paused, listening. “Well I'm here with Spencer, do you mind if I just ask?” He took the phone away from his ear. “Dave is in the area, asked if he could come over.”

Spencer shrugged, sitting up, and pulling the sheet, that they'd laid under them, around his shoulders, covering his body.. “Sure.”

“Sure, how long will you be? Twenty minutes, ok.” He hung up the mobile then looked down at Spencer and grinned. “You look adorable, right now.”

“So do you,” Spencer said, gesturing to his naked body. “Though I'd more say utterly desirable... devourable... Maybe not the latter. Although cannibalism is not frowned upon in certain-”

Hotch smiled and lifted his mobile. It took a moment, for Spencer to realise what Hotch had just done.

“Did you just take my picture?”

Hotch walked back over and sat down beside him, flicking through the mobile to his pictures. Before he clicked onto the one he'd just taken of Spencer, he noted the dozens of photos of Jack. The most recent would have certainly come from that afternoon, when Hotch had taken both video and photo images of Jack on the baseball field.

The photo on the screen now, was of Spencer, seated on the lounge chair, with a blanket wrapped around his torso and a slightly bemused look on his face.

“How do you handle being so adorable?” Hotch said, kissing Spencer.

“Well, I want some photos of you, too, then,” Spencer said.

Hotch merely smiled once more. “We should take a shower, before Dave comes.”

tbc...


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in particular, in this chapter for talk of rape and extreme sexual violence, as well as attempted non-con.
> 
> However, there is also the usual fluff and good sex :).
> 
> Thanks again to all my readers!

In his coffee-making abilities, Hotch demonstrated remarkable timing. The pot had just brewed, when a sharp knock pounded the front door.

“I'm assuming that would be Dave, now,” he said.

“Want me to-?” Spencer began, starting to rise from where he was seated, at the dining table, facing the kitchen.

“I'll get it,” Hotch moved out of the room, leaving Spencer momentarily alone. Spencer smiled, sat back down, and laced his hands behind his head. All was well, in his world. Hotch and himself had just had a shower, together, with actual soaping of bodies, as well as (he smiled wider) the odd kiss and cuddle, before dressing and coming out to make the coffee. Hotch had actually whistled, as he demonstrated his barista technique.

Spencer had never heard him whistle,before.

The front door opened and he heard the friends greet each other, before Rossi came into the dining room.

“Well, hello, Reid,” he smiled. “Ah, I see the coffee is brewed. Perfect timing.”

“You know where the cups are. Pour me one, will you?” Hotch said, moving to the dining table and pulling out the chair next to Spencer. “Spencer?”

“Sure, I'll have one, thanks.”

“The nerve!” Rossi muttered but took three cups out of the cupboard above his head, never-the-less.

“So, what was the big surprise for Jack?” Hotch asked.

“How do you take yours?” Rossi said to Spencer, as he moved to the fridge and took out the milk.

“Ah milk. I'll pour the sugar.”

“Alright then,” Rossi said.

As the dark-haired man continued to make the coffees, Spencer observed that he still hadn't answered Hotch's question. He had the distinct impression that Rossi was deliberately being coy, to keep Hotch's tension up.

Finally, Rossi took both Spencer and Hotch's coffees over to them, then came back with his own, as well as the sugar bowl.

“Well?” Hotch asked, as Spencer upended the sugar into his coffee.

“What are those books that Jack is so obsessed about, again?”

“Harry Potter? Well, he's just started reading book six and he's seen all of the films.”

“Ah yes. You see, me being the brilliant luminary that I am, I have secured a special invite for both you and Jack,” Rossi said. “JK Rowling is coming to Virgina in two week's time, to the Mill Mountain Theatre, to answer questions about the books. I have personally secured two seats, in the front centre row, as well as the chance for a meet and greet, after.”

“Oh...” Hotch looked stunned. “Jack will be thrilled! How did you organise that?”

“I am part of the publishing world, Hotch,” he said, a half-smile upturning his lips. “And I happen to be sleeping with the organiser,”

Hotch laughed. “Well, either way, Jack will be thrilled.”

“So, how are you, Reid?” Rossi asked, turning his attention to the man opposite him.

“Good!” Spencer said, feeling a little awkward.

“Oh and one other thing,” Rossi turned back to Hotch. “I've booked all of us in, to The Rose Drum tonight. I assumed you'd be here, Reid. As well as Jack.”

The Rose Drum? Spencer knew of it, certainly. However, he had never entertained any notion of actually going there. It was vastly acknowledged to be a rather swish restaurant.

“You know, I'm not really-” Hotch began.

“He hates posh places,” Rossi winked at Spencer.

“I just don't see the point of spending a lot of money on food that's just as tasty elsewhere,” Hotch said, a line forming across his eyebrows.

“It's not about the food, you know that. It's about the prestige. Reid, have you ever been to the Rose Drum?”

Spencer shook his head.

“Don't you think your boyfriend deserves to go somewhere with class?” Rossi asked Hotch.

“Spencer has class enough,” Hotch said flatly. “He doesn't have to go anywhere to prove anything.”

“Well, too late. I've already booked it.”

*  
By the time they arrived back at the house, Spencer was feeling more than a little giddy. He realised that this was the second time, in the one day, that he'd been plied with champagne. The Rose Drum was, indeed, an establishment that screamed wealth; from the jewellery and fine clothes of its diners, to the silk elegant cloths of the smart uniform worn by the almost fanatically attentive staff. The price was enough to make Spencer's eyes widen with surprise. He ordered the pan-fried sea-bass and it was, indeed, a far superior dish than any of the ones he'd had before. He ate everything on his plate, including the basil garnish. Although, if he was truthful, he had hoped to have a little more food on the porcelain dish.

Hotch had acted differently with Rossi, than with his friends at the baseball game. With Rossi, he was more eager to chat, to laugh at his often amusing anecdotes. They'd talked a lot about camping, which, in turn, lead to a lot of silence, from Spencer, who didn't have much to contribute. Despite Rossi's assurance that he would enjoy lying back under the stars, he didn't suspect that camping would entice him. Spencer had replied that he didn't much enjoy the thought of being attacked by bears, or hounded by mosquitoes. The last time he'd been out in the wilderness, they had seemed determined to bask him with their mosquito love. There didn't seem to be a place on his body that wasn't itchy.

“Actually, I do have a bit of work to do-” Hotch said now, taking off his coat and placing it on the stand, besides those of Rossi and Spencer.

Rossi who had just entered the lounge room with Spencer, now turned to him. “How about we pick one film. Just one film. And it has to be terribly B. Simply atrocious.”

“What would be the point of that?” Spencer asked.

“Because I'm not in the mood for anything serious,” Rossi said.

Hotch tutted. “While you two decide, I'm going to grab my laptop.”

Spencer watched him walking down the hall, before turning back to Rossi, who was already bent under the television, going through Hotch's dismal DVD collection.

“Jack has more in his room. I don't think he'd mind if we-” Spencer began.

“Jack actually has taste,” Rossi muttered. “Or... sometimes Hotch comes through. How about this?” He held up 'Night of the Living Dead'.

Spencer found it difficult to reconcile that film with Rossi's desire to watch a 'simply atrocious' movie.

“That's held to a high standard, is regarded as a classic. I'd hardly call it a B movie. In fact, it's very well made-”

“So, do you want to watch it, or not?”

Spencer considered his answer. “Sure, why not?”

*

The film had only just begun, when Hotch came back into the room, with his laptop. He sat down next to Spencer, who hesitated only momentarily, then placed his arm around Hotch's waist. Hotch reached down and softly squeezed Spencer's hand, then opened the laptop. Rossi settled down in the arm chair at a slight angle to theirs, and started watching.

*

A good way into the film, as the main characters started to argue about the safety of being in the basement, Hotch closed his laptop and yawned.

“I'm tired and we have a work day tomorrow-”

“Yes, dad,” Rossi said, grinning.

“I'm going to bed.” He then astonished Spencer by leaning over and kissing him on the mouth, tongue ravaging inside.  
“You stay here, if you want,” he whispered, as he pulled away.

Spencer nodded, still amazed that Hotch would be so passionate, in front of Rossi. Both watched Hotch walk out of the room, taking his laptop with him and closing the door that separated the lounge from the hallway.

“You know, I'm no expert in romance,” Rossi brought Spencer's attention back to him. “But, it is clear to me, that you two are very much in love.”

Spencer smiled, quite aware that he was blushing.

“I take it that you resolved that ridiculous argument that you had, when I was last here?”

“We both have our requisite insecurities but yes, we're doing alright.”

Spencer was not sure why Rossi laughed at that. He was being serious.

“I'll tell you something. _Everyone_ has insecurities. Even me,” Rossi said.

“Oh, I know that about you,” Spencer said, causing Rossi to laugh once more.

“You know you really had Hotch worried, for a moment there,” Rossi said. “He saw you were with Morgan and he-”

“Was it really _that_ obvious?”

Rossi's lips upturned. “I’m a profiler, Spencer. Of course, I knew about you and Morgan. Anyway, Hotch, he thought that he'd lost his chance. Of course, he didn't say anything to me. He didn't need to. I told him that I didn't think it was entirely serious with Morgan. I was right, wasn't I?”

“Well, not from _his_ side,” Spencer said, surprised to feel a slight pang of hurt.

“I told him that if he wanted to be with you... well he knew what to do.”

“And what's that?” _Seeing as I'm clearly so predictable._

“Show you that he really _was_ serious about wanting to be with you. You'd make the choice, of course. But I was convinced that you would chose him. I was right.”

“There was no choice,” Spencer said.

*  
“Such brilliant commentary on the racial issues of that time. And still so current,” Rossi said, reaching the spare room.

Spencer smiled. “I agree.”

He could have added more, but was eager to get into Hotch's bedroom, to the man, himself.

“Ok, good night, then.”

“Good night.”

Spencer continued down the hall, and into the main bedroom, switching on the light. Hotch lay on the bed, curled up into a little ball and facing away from him. Spencer grabbed his pyjamas from out of his case and went into the bathroom, quickly changing and brushing his teeth. He switched off the light and climbed into bed beside Hotch, pressing himself against him. Hotch didn't move.

“Hotch?” He gently stroked down his back. Not a peek, from his lover. Spencer gently kissed his ear, feeling himself start to harden. “Hotch?”

Still, nothing.

Spencer considered waking Hotch. But then, he asked himself, to what avail? So they could make love? Promising but then... He sat up, looking down at the peaceful face, in slumber. Somehow, he found he couldn't disturb him.

Spencer turned onto his back, frowning. Normally, this wasn't much of a problem, for him. He could merely 'think himself down'. Only, he decided that he didn't want to. He twisted his long legs off the bed and walked into the bathroom, closing the door, undoing his pyjama bottoms and taking himself in hand. In his mind, it was Hotch's hand stroking, Hotch's mouth, Hotch begging him...

Spencer started to pant. Hotch allowing Spencer's fingers, slick with lube, inside him.

No, it felt wrong, somehow. Hotch had been violated. He would be disgusted, to know that Spencer was stimulated by the thought of... the thought of himself entering Hotch, moving slowly into the tight heat. In Spencer's mind, Hotch would be moaning with desire, begging him for more, that finally he understood that this could feel good... feel wonderful. Spencer stroked harder, in his head, thrusting into his lover, seeing Hotch's dark eyes watch him, face awash with desire.  
Hotch begging for more, yes he wanted this, needed this, this was wonderful. Finally, he understood-

Spencer gasped, felt himself overcome, his seed spraying on the toilet lid.

What is wrong with me? He thought, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and wiping the lid clean, before throwing it down the toilet and flushing it.

_That is the one thing that Hotch doesn't want, right now. And understandably so._

He went to the sink and washed his hands, drying them on the hand towel.

_I shouldn't be fantasising about such things._

Spencer then came back into the room, climbing back into the bed. Hotch had turned, in his sleep to face him.

“Hey...” Hotch said, sounding sleepy.

“Hey...” He deliberately clamped down on the guilt twisting his innards.

Hotch moved forward, entangling his legs with Spencer's.

“Did you end up finishing the movie?” Spencer felt Hotch's hands run through his hair. Gentle. Always gentle.

“Mmm....”

Soft lips touched his.

“I would like nothing more than to make wild love to you. But I am exhausted.”

Spencer breathed out. “That's alright. I'm rather tired, myself.”

“Rossi, he's so extravagant...He still doesn't have me convinced about that restaurant. For the price, the food was pretty average... You've had quite the day, haven't you?” Hotch chuckled a little.

“Can we just have a day where we stay in bed, all day? That would be nice.”

“Mm... that would be nice...”

*

“I'm just saying that you I honestly think that you would enjoy it!” Rossi said to Spencer, as they entered the BAU main quarters, with Hotch following.

“Dave, he's already told you that the answer is no,” Hotch said. In that instance, his mobile ringtone sounded. “Excuse me. Hello? Aaron Hotchner speaking,”

He swiftly walked into the conference room, where Garcia was already setting up.

Spencer made his way to his desk, Rossi following.

“Look, you've never been camping. So how do you know that you wouldn't like it?”

Spencer opened his mouth to answer, when the last person that he wished to see that day, came over to his desk, mouth pursed.

“Hi,” Morgan said, his expression strangely serious. Rossi suddenly moved out of view.

_Thanks, thanks a lot Rossi._

“What do you want?” Spencer folded his arms. Morgan winced.

“You're angry at me. I deserve it. I just... I'm really sorry. I've been acting like a complete utter idiot of the highest order,” he did, indeed look genuinely remorseful. “I've been missing you. As in us just having a laugh together.”

“I'm not going to be intimate with you,” Spencer whispered, glancing around to check that no one else was within hearing range. “So you can-”

“I'm not asking for that! I know I've probably completely messed our friendship up-”

“Yes, you did!” Spencer said. “From the moment you came into my house the first time and jumped all over me!”

A slight smile twisted the full lips. “I didn't exactly see you complaining, pretty boy. In fact you seemed rather enthusiastic.”

Spencer visibly slumped, feeling too defeated to fight. Morgan was right. He couldn't exactly blame him, when he was equally responsible for what had occurred between them. He was, after all, a fully grown man.

“I don't regret what happened between us and nor should you,” Morgan said, then lowered his voice, even further. “Sex is a healthy part of life.”

“What _isn't_ healthy is going to a person you consider a friend, and making them feel like your own personal sex doll!” Spencer whispered. “You hardly even wanted to touch me! It was just straight to me using my mouth or hand on your _cock_ or you _fucking_ me,” (Morgan flinched) “-and it was usually _you_ who fucked _me_. I guess being _inside me_ was just better than you using your own hand.”

Morgan's face had twisted into a look of pure horror and pain. Spencer felt a dim satisfaction, at the sight.

“Take my cock, Spencer,” he leant forward, whispering into Morgan's ear. “Take it all the way in you-”

“No, no you've got it all wrong-” Morgan pulled away, looking horrified.

Spencer didn't care to hear any more. He strode past Morgan, headed for the bathroom, at the end of the corridor, to the far left of the room. Once inside, he checked that no one was occupying the cubicles, then stood near the sinks, watching the door. When it became clear that Morgan hadn't followed him, he let out a deep breath.

Well, that had not exactly gone well.

If Spencer was going to be truthful with himself, he did miss Morgan. But felt amiss as to how to even begin to repair their friendship.

Feeling dazed, he deliberately took the time to control his mind, focusing on his breathing. When he finally felt calm enough to enter the main room without feeling irritated, he left the toilets and returned back down the corridor.

Morgan, who was bent low, talking to JJ (no doubt about him, Spencer thought, bristling) stood up, upon seeing him, a wounded expression on his face. JJ, on the other hand, was scowling. She stood up and moved away from Morgan, not before sending a concerned look, in Spencer's direction.

“Reid...” Morgan said, moving towards him.

“Reid! Morgan! Conference room, now,” Hotch's voice rang out, from across the room .

_Thank you Hotch!_

Spencer abruptly pushed past Morgan, moved into the conference room and sat down next to JJ, who, this time, shot him a sympathetic look. Spencer arranged his face, into what he hoped looked like an expression of concentration. A few seconds later, Morgan walked into the room and, thankfully, sat on the other side of Rossi, away from Spencer.

“Ok...” Hotch stood at the front of the room, facing the team. “This is a last minute change of plans. Garcia has managed, within minutes, to gather the information the Montana Police have just sent to us, as well as found some more so... thank you, Garcia.”

Garcia tried to smile and frown at the same time, creating an odd smirk on her usually cheery face. “I can't say it was my pleasure, to go through horrific crime scene photos, but thank you.”

Hotch flicked on the projector, that took up the front wall, facing the round conference table. On the screen appeared a mug shot of a dark-haired, pockmarked man.

“William Roven. Known gangland assassin. In 2012 he killed Mark Stucci, head of the Stucci family,” the photo changed to one of a grey-haired, overweight man. “Mark Stucci was about to be brought in on charges of kidnap, extortion and murder.” He flicked to a photo of a clear dead body, lying on a road. “He was shot once in the head, and twice in the chest. Roven had just been released from prison, after serving five years, for beating a man to death, in a bar brawl. The police had evidence to implicate Roven but could not find him. He went off the map. Six months after Mark Stucci, Roven killed a man named Lorenzo Cappi.” He then flicked to a photo of a rather handsome dark-haired man, in his mid-twenties. “Cappi is suspected to have been muscling in on the Stucci drug enterprise. Cappi was also executed,” he switched to a photo of the body. The difference between this body and the former one was clear. Though both bore the usual horrific trauma of being shot, at close range, in the head and chest, this one was naked. “However, his MO changed with this one. Cappi was also raped.”

Spencer nodded. He had already noted the congealed blood on the victim's inner thighs.

“After that, Roven raped and murdered Cappi's criminal partner,” he flicked to a photo of another, rather handsome man, who looked to be in his late thirties. The photo then changed to that of his dead, naked, ravaged body. “Then, he kidnapped Stucci's son, Gerard.” This time, the photo was of a very handsome man, who looked to be around thirty. He had the blond haired, blue-eyed, all-American look about him. “Gerard has never been linked to any of the criminal enterprises of his family, in fact was in college, studying veterinary science. He was held for three days, raped repeatedly and then released. Stucci's final known victim is a police officer named Ronald Johnston.” The photo now on the screen was of a rather overweight man, in his fifties. “Believed to be taking bribes off Lorenzo Cappi. He was executed. No evidence of sexual assault. William Roven is currently missing. The police in have no leads. ”

“So, he had a very specific type for the rapes. They were all young, handsome and looked rather fit.” Rossi said.

“There's more. There is a specific reason why we were requested, on this case. In his five year stunt in prison, Roven's cell mate was Taylor Coleman.”

_Taylor Coleman..._

Spencer gripped the edge of his desk, inwardly shuddering, as he recalled his interrogation of Coleman, the role that he had played, pretending to be sexually excited by the thought of the serial killer's crimes. The picture on the screen now, was of Coleman's mugshot. Spencer recalled those flat brown eyes staring at him, the mouth curled up on a grotesque leer.

“I'd like to do to you, what I did to that blond faggot, pretty boy,” Coleman had said. “Would you like that? Me sticking my fist up your ass, until you're shitting blood?”

Although Spencer had felt utterly repulsed by the idea, he had gone along with it, pretending that he, himself, was a masochist, the entire time thinking of the Mcally family.

“Two sexual sadists, sharing a cell,” Rossi said. “You have to wonder how much one inspired the other.”

“So, jets up in-” Hotch began.

“I'll go to Montana Death Row.” Spencer said. “Someone will have to interrogate Coleman, find out what he knows about Roven.”

Hotch and Morgan both spoke at the same time, voicing their displeasure.

“I'll play the role again. He'll believe it. Look, I got a lot of information out of him the first time, didn't I?” Spencer said. “I'll be fine. He's in prison now. I'm not scared of him.”

Hotch suddenly gave him a look of such love, that he felt a warmth encircle his heart, but he could see trepidation in the expression, also.

“Ok, if you think you can get the information out of him. Morgan, I want you to go with him.”

Spencer felt his heart start to pound. He wondered what he had gotten himself into.

*

Spencer was about to be the second last to leave the room, when Hotch stopped him, with a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

Spencer nodded.

“Be careful.”

“I know.”

“Everything alright with Morgan?”

Spencer nodded again.

“I'm proud of your courage,” Hotch said, smiling in that way that always guaranteed to give Spencer goosebumps. Hotch then reached up and trailed a gentle hand up his cheek, before pulling away and leaving the room.

*  
Spencer had managed to avoid Morgan on the jet, by sitting with JJ and talking to her. He could sense that JJ was worried about him so he kept her distracted by talking about his time with Hotch. As she knew anyway, there was no point being in denial. In fact, he felt a serene buzz, in being open about his relationship.

In the vehicle, so far, on the way to the Montana State Prison, he and Morgan had not said a word to each other. This was much preferable, to him.

“Reid... Spencer...” Morgan began, shattering the uncomfortable, but, in Spencer's mind, necessary silence.

“Just... no... please, don't talk.” Spencer looked out, at the green terrain, whizzing past.

“Please I-”

“No!” He determinedly moved his entire body to face the window. The green terrain started to slow down, the trees focusing a little closer. He realised that the car was pulling over, to sit in the emergency lane.

“What are you doing? Restart the car this instant!” He said, turning back to Morgan.

“I'm sorry, I realised I messed up again-”

“Restart. The. Car.”

“It was never my intention to use you-”

“Shut up and restart the car!”

“I guess, I did, but, believe me, that not the intention.”

Spencer gave in, slumped and determinedly moved his body, once more, so it was facing the window. Morgan clearly wasn't going to restart the car until he'd had his say. But it didn't mean that he had to listen.

_That tree must be very old indeed. Upon a first glance, one hundred and twelve years._

“I thought that something could happen between us,” Morgan cut into his thoughts. “Something more than just... But I used sex, to begin with, because that's all I know how to do. I'm not Hotch. I don't do romance very well. But I know I do sex well. I did start to feel strong feelings towards you. And it terrified me. So, I told myself that it was just sex. And...” His voice started to crack. Don't give in, Spencer told himself. “I realise that, in doing so, I hurt you very much. You're right, I couldn't even look at you, in the end, when we had sex, could barely touch you. I really fell for you and I couldn’t deal with it.”

“You made me feel like I was nothing... just a plaything for you,” Spencer said, turning to him.

“I know,” Tears started to run down Morgan's face. “And it's so ironic because the feelings that I had... to some extent, still have for you... Looking at you now, and seeing the hurt that _I_ caused... I'm so sorry Spencer. Listen, I've been seeing a counsellor for about a year now. Only Garcia knows. I have troubles with intimacy, because a long time ago, I was taught that sex was all I was good for. And then, I did it to you.” He started to openly weep, now, turning his face away from Spencer.

Carl Buford, Spencer thought, feeling a fresh surge of fury. He remembered that the man was dead, and felt glad of it. Watching Morgan weep, Spencer felt neither pity nor sorrow but simple fatigue.

“We should go to the prison,” he said.

Morgan wiped his eyes. “You're right.” He turned the ignition. “Just... I'm sorry...”

He pulled out into the road. Both were silent, the rest of the trip to the prison.

*

Coleman had put on weight, since Spencer had last seen him, in what he knew, grimly, were similar circumstances. He guessed the reason to be a combination of death row food and lack of exercise. Upon seeing him, Coleman's moon face lit up into a sly grin.

“Pretty boy! You know I've been thinking about you, a lot. Even wrote to you, a few times, only the warden says he won't send my letters. I'm about to get a lawyer for that one. It's an infringement of my constitutional rights!”

Spencer took the chair opposite him, glancing down at his handcuffed wrists, thankful for them, as well as Morgan, who he knew was watching, from the other room.

“How about you bend over and show me that ass of yours? If I wanted to, I could fuck you right here, and there would be nothing you could do to stop me. I'd wrap my hands around that skinny throat of yours. Ever fucked while being strangled?”

“You lied to me,” Spencer said.

“About what?”

“There was... someone else...” He deliberately lowered his eyes. “That man... your cell mate, from prison. I know. I looked him up. You two had fun together, didn't you?” He looked up again and affected hurt. “Why didn't you tell me about him? I would love to hear those stories,” he finished, adding a seductive tone.

“Billy? Yeah, we hooked up in prison. Started our own little herd of boys. Even hooked up a few times out of prison. Wasn't easy though. Billy was a busy man.”

“Tell me about the times you 'hooked up' out of prison,” Spencer whispered.

“You are one sick bitch, aren't you? I'd love to see you in here, pretty boy. You'd be fucked so many times and by so many men you'd be shitting come for the next three years.”

_Charming._

“I had one boy, in here, who looked a lot like you. He avoided us, for a while. Finally, we got him in the exercise room. Dragged him into our cell and fucked him so hard and so many times, he needed a colostomy bag.”

Perhaps it was the fact that Spencer was already rather stressed, from the conversation with Morgan, or that he was simply genuinely sickened by what he had just heard, but he broke character for a moment, a look of utter revulsion overcoming his face, before he righted himself. Coleman, who's very nature meant that he was attuned to spotting a lie (perhaps even better than the profilers, themselves), changed expression, from glee, to suspicion.

“You lying fucking cunt. Oh, you're good. You're very good indeed.”

“What's wrong?” Spencer feigned innocence.

“Answer me this. Do you want to be fucked by me?”

“Have I said something wrong?”

Coleman was up in a flash, moving so fast that Spencer had no time to react. He gasped, in shock, as he was suddenly knocked of his chair and onto the ground. The shock then turned to straight panic, as he felt Coleman’s body on top of his own, his breath on his neck, erection digging into his upper thigh.

“I'm gonna give it to you, real hard.” Coleman's cuffed hands tugged at the buttons of his pants.

Spencer, who felt his entire body go slack, didn't hear the door open, only felt the weight be lifted off him, followed by the sounds of thumps and slaps, of Coleman screaming. Feeling dazed, he managed to make it onto his knees, and looked up, to see Coleman on the ground, curled up into a ball, with Morgan kicking him, repeatedly, in the stomach. The door opened again, and two armed guards, came rushing in. Upon seeing them, Morgan ceased with his assault. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the panting breaths of Morgan, Spencer and Coleman. Finally, Coleman spoke.

“Take me to the infirmary! And I want to lay assault charges! This man just attacked me!”

“Nothing happened,” the dark-haired officer said.

“Yes, I agree. I didn't see anything. Seems to me that you did this to yourself. For attention,” the second officer said.

Coleman sat up on his knees. “How dare you! I'll have you all up for-”

“Listen here, you little shit,” the dark-haired officer strode over and placed his baton on Coleman's forehead. “You just attacked an FBI agent! If I was this other agent here, I'd do more than just rough you up, a little. I'd kick the shit out of you then cut off your dick and throw it to my dogs. So no, you try tell anyone about what this man did,” he gestured to Morgan. “No one will believe you, I guarantee it.”

Coleman stared up at him, utter shock in his eyes.

“Come on, Reid. Let's go,” Morgan said.

*

Spencer managed to make it out to their vehicle, before the realisation of what Coleman had done to him, was planning to do to him, hit. He suddenly found himself shaking, unbidden sobs coming out of his mouth.

“Hey, it's ok,” Morgan's arms were suddenly around him. Spencer clung to him, unable to cease his tremors. “It's alright.” He could feel Morgan's soothing hands in his hair. 'You were very brave today. It's alright.”

After a few minutes, he was able to control himself. He released himself from Morgan's grasp, looking down at the ground, feeling a little embarrassed about his sudden break down.

“I don't regret what I did,” Morgan said, once they’d moved into the vehicle and were placing their belts on. “I'm just astonished that he would try and rape an FBI agent, while in an interview room. It's just insane!”

“I failed,” Spencer said, glumly. “I broke character.”

“It's alright. It happens. You're only human, Reid. Besides, you did verify that him and Roven had other victims, together. That's something.”

“He just took me by surprise. I just didn't see it coming. If I was focused...”

“Hey...” Morgan reached out, gripping his shoulder. “It wasn't your fault, alright?”

“Thank you, for coming in as fast as you did,” Spencer said.

“I wish I was faster,” Morgan said.

*

They had almost reached the police headquarters, when Morgan's mobile rang.

“We've had a breakthrough,” Hotch's voice came through loudspeaker. “JJ managed to break through some of Gerard Stucci's amnesia, in regards to where he was held prisoner. Garcia pieced together a list of potential places, from his description, narrowing it down to one.”

“That's my girl,” Morgan said, softly.

“We're on our way there, now.”

“Well, we'll be back at HQ in about ten minutes,” Morgan said. “But, I guess we'll have to wait this one out.”

“If it's a dead end, then we'll obviously let you know,” Hotch said.

Spencer looked at the now dead mobile, feeling relief spread through is body. He had no desire to go out and try and chase down this rapist-assassin. He felt simply too exhausted.

“If it's a place with such happy memories for him, and if its so well secluded, why wouldn’t he go back to it?” Spencer said. “Yes, he'll be there.”

*

They heard all the commotion on the police banner, from within the safety of the station. The profilers and police had entered the small cabin from all sides, expecting an assault, from Roven. Instead, they found his body, seated on his lounge chair. He'd shot himself through the temple. Spencer could have predicted as much. Roven was obviously aware that the police were circling in, so he demonstrated his final act of ultimate power and control, by taking his own life.

Spencer was thankful, to the god that was science, that he didn't need to tell the others about the prison visit. No one asked, which he found to be a little surprising. On the jet back to Virginia, he sat in the corner and pretended to sleep. Once back on land, he quickly bid farewell to the others, then stood by Morgan's desk.

“I was thinking... maybe, in the next few days... we could do something...”

Morgan's smile showed almost every one of his white teeth. “There is this new bowling alley I've been thinking of trying. Half-priced cocktails from six pm.”

 _Bowling?_ “Ah sure... we could try that.”

“You can invite Hotch, if you like,” he sounded genuine.

“I was thinking just me and you, for now. Friends.”

Morgan nodded. “Sure thing.”

*

Hotch talked very little, on the drive back to his. Spencer knew that something was bothering him but felt too keyed up, himself, to go into detail was to what.

It wasn't until they walked into the house and Hotch closed the door, then turned to face him, that Spencer could tell, from his expression, that they were going to have a serious talk.

“Alright what happened today?”

“What do you mean?”

“Something happened when you went to see Coleman. What was it?”

Spencer almost automatically said 'nothing', then steeled himself.

_He deserves the truth._

“He...I broke character. I didn't mean to. He was talking about raping a prisoner until he needed a colostomy bag,” (at that Hotch's face twisted up in disgust) “I gave a look similar to the one you just did. I couldn't help it. He... guessed that I had been lying to him. Next thing I know, he knocked me off my chair and to the ground. He was lying on top of me, trying to undo my pants, telling me that he was going to rape me,” he suddenly felt cold all over. “I just felt paralysed. Morgan came in and threw him off me.” He decided, for Morgan's sake, to not add in the beating that Morgan then gave.

“I'm sorry, I didn't...” He found that he couldn't meet Hotch's eyes.

“It's ok...” Hotch said, wrapping his arms around him and holding him through his trembling, as Morgan had. “I'm sorry that happened, Spencer.”

“I'm alright. But I was just... it's more I feel so angry at myself for letting it happen.”

“This wasn't your fault.”

“That's what Morgan said.”

“He's right.”

“I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry I failed.”

“No, you didn't fail. It's alright. I love you, alright? I love you so much...”

_So do I. So much._

Spencer moved his head and started to kiss Hotch on the face, kissing his nose, his cheeks, his chin, before finally arriving at his mouth.

“There's something I have to tell you,” he whispered. “Morgan also talked to me. I think that's why I was a bit shaky, with the role-play. He told me that he treated me the way he did because he did develop feelings for me and couldn’t handle them.”

“I knew this, Spencer. So did you. This was just verification.”

“It's good to know that Morgan isn't the horrible person he was making himself out to be.”

“You already knew this.”

“I know...” Spencer started kissing Hotch's neck, feeling the stubble prickle against his lips. He decided that he didn't want to talk about Morgan. “I hate it that Foyett hurt you, made you feel shamed of yourself.”

“Spencer....” Hotch stiffened, so Spencer drew away.

“Because you're so beautiful,” Spencer said. “Everything about you is so beautiful.”

Hotch looked at him a moment, with a closed expression, then undid the buttons of his own shirt and pulled it off, dropping it to the floor.

“Whatever you want...” Hotch said. “Tell me what you want.”

Spencer bent down and kissed a pink scar, that ran directly along his twelfth rib.

“I want to get to a place, where you an make love to me and I don't feel ashamed or get flashbacks,” Hotch said. “If you want to make love to me, right now, I'll try. I'll do anything for you.”

Spencer started to kiss every one of Hotch's scars, mindful of Hotch's stuttered breaths.

“I've fantasied about it too...” Spencer admitted. “I thought I was being... wrong.”

Hotch cupped Spencer's face, bringing it up to his own.

“What did you fantasise about? Tell me?” His face looked open. Trusting.

“I... I used my fingers, first, slowly, until you started to beg me to make love to you. And then, it was slow, tender, the way you make love to me. And you were moaning and begging me for more.”

A sad smile crept over Hotch's face. “I want that too, so much... please, beautiful, be patient with me...”

Spencer stood up. “As I keep telling you. I am willing to wait, for as long as it takes. To me, its an amazing step that _you_ can make love to _me_!”

Hotch smiled in such a sweet, almost shy way, that Spencer gave in to the overwhelming urge to kiss him.

“Make love to me, now,” he said. “I want to forget that terrible event that happened today.” He took Hotch's hand and lead him to the bedroom. They then tumbled onto the bed together. Spencer rolled Hotch onto his back and kissed him down his body, marvelling at every contour.

“Beautiful,” he sighed, moving past his erection to his long legs, kissing his inner thigh, then continuing up to kiss his scars. “You're so so...” He grabbed the lube and poured it onto his hand, sliding it across one scar, before slicking it up and down Hotch's erection, as he moaned, before sinking two fingers inside himself.

“Oh Spencer...” Hotch said, watching, his panting becoming more intense.

Spencer took out the fingers and positioned himself over Hotch, slowly sliding himself down, moaning, as he felt himself being filled. The near rape experience was long forgotten. Here, he felt in control, here Hotch was letting him do whatever he wanted. He moaned, as he started to move more forcefully up and down, feeling Hotch's hands on his hips, hearing Hotch's own groans of passion.

“You like?” He looked down to Hotch, grinning.

Hotch responded by sitting up and kissing him on the lips, exerting a bit more control, as he pulled their bodies together, wrapping his arms around Spencer, hands kneading his back, then reaching down to grope at his buttocks.

“I could make love to you all day long...” Hotch whispered. “What do you want me to do? Tell me what you want?”

“Kiss me,” he said.

Hotch lovingly obliged, tongue tenderly lapping with Spencer's. Spencer groaned, feeling himself reach a sweet, gentle release. Hotch moaned a few seconds later and Spencer knew that he was sated.

“Thank you for that,” Spencer said, moving slightly to release Hotch from inside of him.

“No, thank you. I've been so self-conscious about how Foyett marked me. But tonight... now...” He pulled back, and ran a hand over his scars. “You told me I was beautiful, despite them. And I believed you.”

“Of course! I've always thought you were so so beautiful. You stun me.”

Hotch's expression was one of disbelief. “You're the beautiful one. Everyone says so.”

Spencer sighed and play swatted Hotch.

“Well, I'm the genius and I say you're beautiful. So you are.”

“Ok, I’ll go by that logic,” Hotch said, moving in to kiss him, once more.

Tbc...


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all my readers! Enjoy :)

The case was relatively simple; a series of bombings, in the Philadelphia area, with the victim profile, materials used and bomb placement pointing to a clear modus operandi and signature. It was somewhat a relief, to be working such a case. Spencer hated to perceive a crime that resulted in the horrific death of three people, in that fashion. However, he'd prefer to work this bombing case, to the previous one, in which Taylor Coleman had clumsily attempted to rape him.

The profile for the bomber was easily worked out, the meshing of the team helped by the fact that Morgan and him could at least be in the same room, with the tension of a few days back rather eased. Indeed, it seemed Morgan was back to his old self, joking with him and calling him 'pretty boy'. Spencer found himself to be rather more reticent, talking to Morgan and being courteous but, at the same time, feeling the need to keep a bit of a mental distance from him.

With Hotch gone for the morning, citing 'family problems' (Spencer knew for a fact that he had an appointment with his psychologist), Rossi had taken over, as case manager. He had separated the team in pairs, as per protocol, placing himself with Spencer, much to the latter's relief. He wasn't sure if he would be totally comfortable, working one-on-one with Morgan.

Around one o'clock, Hotch turned up at the police station that was serving as their base. Spencer looked up, from where he was conferring, with JJ. His boyfriend held his usual, stern work-Hotch face, until his eyes met Spencer's An odd expression then momentarily came over him. It didn't look as though it was an unpleasant look, in any way. Even so, Spencer couldn't interpret it.

The Hotch-work-mask was then firmly into place.

A few hours later, the police surrounded the suspect, who fitted the profile to his very dirt encrusted sneakers. In inspecting the house, the profilers and police discovered bomb-making equipment. Forensics took the items, confident that they would match fragments of the exploded bombs.

As the exhausted team piled back into their BAU headquarters, Spencer felt simple comfort in the fact that the suspect's sexual outlet was clearly in making bombs, and not in the rape of others. He wasn't sure if, that day, he could have handled another rape case.

“So, we still on for tomorrow?”

“Hm...?” Spencer looked up, from where he'd gathered his belongings into his nap-sack, to Morgan, leaning over his desk, bearing his toothy grin. “Oh yes, bowling. Ten-thirty, right?”

“If you're busy, we can reschedule-” Morgan said the smile instantly vanishing from his face.

“No no, looking forward to it. I'll meet you at the bowl-a-rama at 10.30am.”

“Where I intend to totally kick your skinny but pretty ass,” Morgan said. Spencer realised it was a joke but couldn't find the humour.

“Alright, pretty boy, see you then.”

Spencer swung his nap-sack over his shoulder and went into Hotch's office, where he was also packing up his belongings.

“You coming?”

Hotch looked to be checking that he had everything he needed.

“Let's go.”

*

“So, Jack is absolutely thrilled that you are going Trick-or-Treating with him tomorrow night. He's really excited to show you his costume,” Hotch said, as he drove his vehicle out of the BAU staff parking lot and onto the main road. “He's being dropped off a bit later tomorrow morning. Carol and Tom have invited us to a lunchtime Halloween barbecue. You're invited too. I'm sure they'd love to pick your brain some more.”

“I... sort of organised with Morgan to meet up and go bowling with him tomorrow. I'll definitely still be going trick-or-treating with Jack later!” He added, hastily. “Wouldn't miss that.”

“Oh, well that's ok.”

“I'm sorry.” He truly meant it.

“Hey, Spencer. It's alright. We don't have to be joined at the hip. I think it's healthy for couples to have outside interests, than each other. And I think it's good that you and Morgan are starting to repair your friendship.”

Spencer still remained unconvinced.

“So, where's the bowling place?”

“Alexandra Avenue.”

“Hm... that's closer to yours. What time are you meeting Morgan?”

“Ten-thirty.”

“Ok, that should work out. Jack is getting dropped off at eleven-thirty. I can drop you off, if you want, at the bowling alley.”

“You really don't have to. I can drive!”

“Well, the option is there. Up to you.”

Spencer was silent a moment. “Did you want to stay over at mine, tonight, then?”

“If you want me to.”

“Of course. Why wouldn't I?”

“I just never want you to think that you don't have a choice, with me, that's all. So, if there is ever a time that you want to say no then that's ok, just say it.”

Spencer felt certain that a lot of this came from Hotch's session with his psychologist, that day. Even so, it was absolutely not necessary.

“I want you to come over to mine tonight,” he was at least able to keep the exasperation out of his tone.

*

Upon entering Spencer's apartment, Hotch went straight over to his loungeroom dresser and started to peruse all of his alphabetically stacked blue ray DVDs.

“It occurs to me that I haven't had a good look at these,” Hotch said.

Spencer stood, awkwardly a moment. He was in no mood to watch a film, in that moment.

“You want a drink?”

“That would be nice.”

JJ's wine present again made a resurgence. He poured two glasses, handing one to Hotch.

“To less bombers in the world,” Spencer said, clinking their glasses together. Hotch favoured him with the exact same expression that he'd given when he first saw him in the police station, earlier that day.

“What is it?”

“You amaze me.”

“Huh?”

Hotch smiled, somewhat enigmatically and started to move around the room, picking up odd objects and looking at them, before putting them down again. Spencer went to the sofa and sat down, watching him. Hotch seemed to be in an odd mood that night.

“How did it go today, with your psychologist?” Spencer asked.

“Good. Very good,” Hotch replied. “You know,” he stopped and looked at the giant framed photo of Carol Sagan’s “Pale Blue Dot” that Spencer had framed, over the television. “We talked a bit about you.”

“Oh....” Spencer was not the least surprised but it still made him feel somewhat awkward, to hear it.

“I never realised before. _You_ were the one to make the first move . _You_ kissed me in the car. _You_ were the one to first say 'I love you'. All things I wanted to do, just didn't have the courage.”

“Hotch...” Spencer didn't know how to respond to this.

“What we did talk a little about, today, was me trying to be more pro-active, to take back the power that Foyett took from me.”

“Well, that's-”

“This is a nice apartment. But it's quite small. I really like this picture,” he pointed to the one on the wall. “I never asked, are you renting?”

“No, I've almost finished paying off the mortgage, but what's-?”

“You could rent it to tenants, and pay off the mortgage that way.”

Spencer swallowed down the hint of irritation rising inside of himself. Why on earth did Hotch want to talk about his apartment?

“When did you buy it?” A curious tension was veritably rising off Hotch. “Even if it was five years ago, the value would be double by now, in this area. You could sell it and make double profit.”

“Why would I-?” An idea dawned on him, an idea that made his heart start to thump, a pleasant glow fill his body.

“You asked me why I gave you that strange look in the police station,” Hotch sat down beside him, took the drink from him, then placed both glasses on the floor beneath them, then took both of Spencer's hands in his. “You were talking to JJ and there was a window behind you. The sun was highlighting your hair. And your face looked so alive. And then, when you looked at me, with those lovely eyes. You just looked so indescribably beautiful.”

Spencer's mind went to all of the times, in the past, particularly before they were a couple, when he had looked across the room, and seen Hotch in the exact same light; beautiful, nigh, untouchable. Most of the times, Hotch was not doing anything remarkable; conversing with a colleague, going over a report, or talking on the mobile.

“Anyway,” Hotch continued. “I thought, I want to see that face, when I wake up every morning. And I want that poster, in my house,” he pointed to the “Pale Blue Dot” poster. “And all of your hundreds of DVDs. I know you're over my place nearly all the time, but, apart from a few bathroom items and clothes, it is distinctly missing Spencer Reid items, that he enjoys and loves. I know we haven't been together very long... I want you to move in with me. You don't have to answer now. It's a big ask. And then there's also the issue of Jack. I get him on weekends and my days off. So, you'll be living with my son, also, which I know may be daunting. Just, think about it. That's all I ask.”

“Jack...” Spencer blinked, taking in what Hotch had just said to him.

“I spoke to Jack, before coming to work today, brought up the possibility of you moving into the house. He was rather happy about the concept. Told me that you were more fun than me. Apparently, dad is boring,” Hotch said, smirking.

_He thinks I'm fun? That's nice... moving in... with Aaron Hotchner... oh wow..._

“Of course I will!” Spencer felt as though his heart had just exploded with joy. “I'd love to move in with you.”

Hotch smiled, perhaps the most genuine smile that Spencer had ever seen.

_Speaking of indescribable beauty..._

“I want to make love, right now. On this sofa,” Spencer said. “Then I want to make love on the bed.”

“If you insist...” Hotch said.

Spencer laughed, and grabbed him lightly by the collar, pulling him to himself.

*

Spencer lay on top of Hotch, under the warm covers, resting his head against Hotch's chest. Every so often, as Hotch spoke, he turned his head to kiss his pectorals, feeling the soft chest hair graze his lips. Hotch's own hands drew lazy patterns on his sweat-slicked back.

“... I'll have a look at your portfolio and see what can be done...” Hotch said.

Spencer sighed. “Sounds good.”

For the past ten minutes, Hotch talked of the housing market, the stock market, bonds and the value of Spencer's apartment, and other investments. Spencer had initially listened with interest, until the words started to bore him. Now, he understood how others felt, when he prattled on about a topic that held no interest for them. Spencer knew about investments. He'd be a fool not to. However, the knowledge never held much interest for him, so he didn't pursue it further. He had nearly finished paying the mortgage on his apartment and had had a few stocks and shares, that he had hastily given to his financial planner, a friend of his mother's, so that he could focus his brilliant mind on other matters.

Hotch, from the twists and turns of the mostly one-sided conversation, for the past ten minutes, obviously knew a lot about investments.

“I thought you'd know all about this,” Hotch said.

“Not really an interest of mine...”

“Money is important, Spencer. You need to safeguard your future. I have always preferred housing, as the best investment, depending on where you buy, of course.”

“How many houses do you own?”

“Three. I'm renting out the other two.”

“You never told me that you owned three houses,” he said, feeling a little sour at the idea.

“Hm... I guess it never came up in conversation... Hey, it's not like I was keeping it from you. I just didn’t think about it.”

“You must think I'm very naive...The genius who doesn't even have his finances sorted, who never had a long term relationship before this one.”

“I think you're.... fragile, in a way. But, in other ways, absolutely not. It's like you're made of titanium.”

Spencer noticed that he side-stepped the actual content of his last comment.

Let it go, he told himself. Why does it matter, that Hotch never told you that he owns more than one house?

He felt one of Hotch's hands travel further down his body, to grope his left buttock. Surely, after a marathon session, that went from the couch, to the kitchen table, to the bed, Hotch would not be up for another round?

“You're up to making love again?”

Hotch laughed. “I don't think I have the energy to move. Not that I'm complaining...”

Spencer smirked, feeling rather pleased with himself.  
*

All morning, Hotch had spoken about the plans for him moving in. Though Hotch spoke rationally and with his usual glib tone, he could also sense joy, perhaps even the excitement that Spencer, himself, felt.

“If you don’t mind occasionally giving Jack a chance to look through your clearly vastly superior telescope,” Hotch said, as he now swung the car around and into the parking lot of the bowl-a-rama. “I'm actually just using you for your astronomy knowledge. I frankly wouldn't have a clue as to even where the north star is. Joking, I do know how to locate the north star. But not much beyond that. Don't ask me anything about quasars. Or black holes.”

“You're truly missing out. It's a fascinating subject.”

“Well, Jack seems to think so.”

“So you're sure he's ok with me moving in?”

Hotch turned off the ignition. “Jack is... a truly remarkable boy. After Hailey died, obviously, it was a difficult time, for both of us. I couldn't cope. Then, when I could finally cope... a little, I still wasn't... I knew I wasn't the father I wanted to be, anyway. Then... with Beth... I got the feeling that Jack was happy to see me happy. He liked Beth, of that I have no doubt. Now, with you... I think there's some of the idea that he's happy to see me happy. But it's more than that. You and him have a lot in common. He truly enjoys your company. You and him talk about things that I simply am not interested in. I honestly wouldn't care to debate whether Kirk Picard is the best Star Trek captain of all time.”

Spencer caught his mistake and burst out laughing. Kirk Picard, indeed. In some ways, it was adorable, that Hotch was so not-versed in the Trek universe, that he muddled up the names of two captains. Unable to resist, he unclipped his seatbelt, leant forward, and cupped Hotch's face in his hands, kissing his chin.

“It's-” a kiss on the left cheek “James T-” kiss on the right cheek. “Kirk. And-” kiss on the nose “Jean-Luc”, kiss on the lips “Picard. They're two different captains,” he then began to nuzzle Hotch's neck.

“If you teach about Star Trek this way, then maybe I will learn something!” Hotch said, gently cupping Spencer's face up, to kiss him on the lips, their tongues battling for dominance. Both pulled away, panting.

“But seriously, I wouldn't ask you to move in, if Jack wasn't one hundred percent agreeable. I love you and I want to spend my life with you. But Jack is my son. You understand?”

“I think I do,” Spencer said, reeling a little from Hotch saying he wanted to spend his life with him.  
“I'd better go meet Morgan.”

*

“Hey, Spencer!” Morgan, looking dashing as ever, stood by the front counter. “Just in time, I see.” He turned back to the teenaged girl, who had evidentially been serving him. “As I was saying, pretty, I'll go for the three games. Size ten shoes.” He'd already taken off his shoes and was handing them over. The girl's pale skin flushed crimson at his smile. “Sure thing,” she said, taking his money. “Are you with him?” She was distinctly colder, when she spoke to Spencer.

“Ah yes.”

“Ten fifty. Shoe size?”

“Nine,” he said, handing the money over, followed by his loafers.

“I saw you and Hotch pull over into the car park. I was going to say hello, then noticed you were... occupied.” Morgan's smile was positively vulpine.

Spencer was now sure that he was flushing as brightly as the girl.

“So you came from Hotch's?”

“Oh no, we came from mine.”

“Ah...” Morgan then fell silent. For the first time, in their friendship, Spencer couldn't think of anything to say to him.

“Here, you go,” the girl said, coming back with two pairs of shoes in her hands. “Size nine and size ten. You're lane five.”

“So, you ever bowled before?” Morgan asked, as both sat down on the bench opposite, to put on their bowling shoes.

“Once, a long time ago. I wasn't very good.”

“Bowling is easy to learn. You just have to focus.”

“Hm... I guess, we'll see.”

Once they'd set up their names, in the computer at lane five, Morgan went first. Spencer watched him line himself up, then swing and release the bowling ball. It went smoothly down the lane, curving slightly at the last minute, knowing down six pins. Morgan's second go knocked down two.

“Your go,” he said, turning to Spencer and grinning.

Spencer picked up a bowling ball and attempted to copy Morgan's technique. He tossed the ball. It sailed down the lane, then curved about three-quarters of the way down, straight into the gutter. Spencer's next turn almost immediately went into the gutter.

Morgan stood up, took his turn, and scored a strike. His second go, he knocked down eight pins, followed by two.

And so became the pattern of the match. Morgan inevitably bowled strikes and spares and Spencer bowled gutter balls. Morgan attempting to coach him on technique only seemed to add to his fluster. With both alternatively getting up to bowl, Spencer noticed that they didn't have time for awkward conversation. That was, at least, a bonus.

After two games of not getting a single strike, in his third bowl, of the third game, Spencer lined up the ball in the centre of the lane, ran, swung his arm down and let go. The ball moved smoothly down the lane and did not curve, slamming into the pins and knocking all ten down.

“I did it!” Spencer screamed, jumping up and down and causing a few titters from the occupants of the lane beside them, “I got a strike!”

Morgan stood up and pumped his arm through the air. “Congrats, Spencer!”

Spencer then went on to bowl three straight gutter balls in a row.

*

“So, how are you getting back?” Morgan asked, as they swapped their bowling shoes for their own. For his part, Spencer was glad that it was over. He had already been humiliated enough, in his life, to add to it with more literal gutter balls. Towards the end, he noticed that the people in the lane next to theirs laughed every time he rolled a gutter ball. He tried to assure himself that it was a coincidence. However, he couldn't entirely believe that.

“There's a bus, goes by here. Comes in,” he checked his watch. “Forty-two minutes. I'll just-”

“Spencer, I can’t let you wait forty-two minutes!”

“That's alright. I have a book-”

“I'll give you a lift.”

“No, it's fine!”

“No, I insist.”

Spencer relented. He secretly didn't wish to wait forty-two minutes for a bus.

“Thank you.”

*

Once in the car, the tension between them started again. Spencer racked his mind, for a sentence, that would lead to an interesting conversation.

“Seen any good movies, recently?” Morgan asked.

Well, it was a start, anyway. Soon, the conversation segued into Garcia, always an interesting one to talk about. Morgan admitted that he was not exactly fond of her new boyfriend, who flirted with other women, in front of her. This topic of conversation continued all the way back to Spencer's street.

“Did you want to grab a coffee?” Spencer asked, as Morgan pulled up opposite his apartment block. He was thinking about a quaint cafe, a few streets over.

“I'd love to, but, speaking of Garcia, I told her that I’d help her move some furniture about today. She wants to rearrange her house and wants me to do all the heavy lifting.”

And no doubt talk about what happened today, Spencer thought.

“Oh, that's alright. Ok, well thanks for today.” Spencer jumped out of the car, feeling his shoulders slump. As far as he was concerned, it had not been the usual blast with Morgan. They were missing the ease at which they usually conversed and laughed together.

Would this be the norm now, for them? He thought, placing his key in the lock and turning it.

Perhaps their relationship truly was tarnished.

He went into his apartment and closed the door, throwing his keys into the little bowl on the foyer bannister.

Everything seemed to be changing, so swiftly, he wasn't sure if he could catch up. He looked around his apartment, little pieces of himself; his Carl Sagan framed poster, his entire DVD special collection of all of the Star Trek movies, his expensive, exquisitely detailed globe of the world, that he kept locked in the cabinet. Would he be able to keep these individual expressions of himself, if he moved in with Hotch?

Don't be silly, he told himself. Hotch had specifically said that he wanted you to move in because he wants aspects of your personality, in his house.

_Hotch... Moving in with Hotch._

A little bubble of excitement filled his stomach at the thought, and he reached into his pocket for his mobile and found the number, calling it. Hotch answered within four rings.

“Spencer! How are did it go with Morgan?”

He could hear chatter, in the background.

“Alright. He won, of course, every game. I... wasn't quite as good.”

“Well, I'm glad you had a good time. I thought you'd still be with him, actually.”

“No, he was meeting with Garcia. Rearranging furniture.”

“Sounds fun,” he said deadpan. “Listen, Spencer, Jack's calling me. I'll see you at mine at five, alright?”

“Sure. Goodbye.”

“Bye,” Hotch hung up.

Spencer stared at the mobile, frowning. Hotch was having fun at the barbecue with his friends, Morgan was helping Garcia out and he was alone, as usual.

He sat down on the sofa, upon which, the night before, he'd lavished attention on Hotch's body, with kisses and strokes, before Hotch's ringtone going off, took them both to the kitchen. Spencer, at the time, had wanted him to ignore it, but Hotch insisted he needed to check who it was. It may be a new work case, or news about Jack, he had reasoned. Hotch had answered, then hung up within seconds.

“Telemarketer,” he had said, then proceeded to lay Spencer down on the kitchen table and pay his own special kind of attention to his body.

Hotch was, no doubt, now, talking to a variety of people. What if one of them was a beautiful woman? One who was also intelligent and funny and vivacious? Spencer felt his stomach sour. Or a beautiful man?

Don't be daft! He told himself. Hotch constantly tells you how much he absolutely adores and loves _you_. He just asked you to move in with him. He's not going to leave you for another person!

_He may, if the person is amazing enough._

Spencer again told himself that he was being unfair. More than once, Hotch had told him that he wanted them to have separate lives, to feel like they could do things with other people, and not have to check in with each other. Hotch had never given him any reason to doubt him, so why was Spencer feeling possessive now?

 _You were the one who slept with Morgan, when all Hotch did was want to stay behind and finish some work, rather than go home with you. Remember that. And remember that Hotch forgave you_.

Spencer closed his eyes, sat and and determined to banish such thoughts from his mind. He then stood up and grabbed one of his books on his shelf, picking at random, opened it to the first page and started to read.

*

The door opened, to a miniature Darth Vader, pointing a toy lightsaber at him.

“May the force be with you!” Jack said, with a deep tone.

“You have come far, my apprentice,” Spencer said, causing Jack to giggle.

“Where's your costume?” Jack asked, taking the mask off.

“In my nap-sack,” Spencer held up the bag. “I'm going as Frankenstein.”

“Cool!”

Spencer walked into the house. Hearing the sizzle of a fry pan, in the kitchen, he moved to that room, to Hotch, standing by the stove.

“Hello, stranger!” Hotch said, grinning.

“Spencer!” Jack shouted, standing behind him.

“Jack, what did I tell you about shouting?” Hotch said.

“Sorry," Jack lowered his tone. "Would you like to play on my X-Box with me?”

Spencer wasn't in the mood. However, didn't feel like he could let Jack down.

“Sure thing.”

*

Two hours later, dinner was finished, and Spencer had put on his costume. Hotch had changed into a black cape, and had placed fake fangs in his mouth.

“Alright, we ready?” He asked Jack, who had been standing by the front door for the past ten minutes.

“Alright! Let's go.”

“Ok, you go out the front, I just want to talk to Spencer a moment.”

“Dad! I've been waiting ten minutes already!”

“Then you can wait a little longer!”

Spencer felt his trepidation rising. What did Hotch want to say to him? Was it going to be about moving in? Did he now regret asking? Was his worst fear confirmed; he'd met someone that day, at the barbecue?

Jack scowled, but did as he was told. Watching him leave the house, Spencer told himself that he was prepared for the worst.

Hotch pulled up his mask, cupped his face, and pressed their lips together, passionately kissing him. Telling himself that, for a genius, he could truly be an idiot, at times, Spencer enthusiastically responded. Both released, grinning at each other.

“I've been wanting to do that all evening,” Hotch said. Tiny spots of pink had appeared in his cheeks.

“How was the barbecue?” Spencer asked, as both walked out of the house.

“Finally! Let's go!” Jack raced ahead.

“Hey, not too far ahead!” Hotch called out to him. “Well, with fifteen children running around, you can imagine the chaos. But, Carol and Tom were there. They can make any situation hilarious. Of course, they asked about a million questions about you, the first of which was why you weren't there. I told them that you were allowed to have a life of your own.”

They had reached the gate of the first house. Jack was already half-way up the drive.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” Hotch said, reaching out and holding his hand. “Jack may be rushing ahead and ignoring us, but he's really happy that you're here. I can tell.”

Jack knocked on the door. “Trick or treat!” he said, to the frizzy-haired woman who answered. By the time Spencer and Hotch had made it up to Jack, the woman had closed the door, and he had a bunch of chocolates in his bag.

“Alright!” He rushed past Spencer and Hotch.

“Hey, not so fast!” Hotch said.

“So, you didn't tell me much about what happened today with Morgan,” Hotch said, as they turned around and started walking back down the driveway. His hand felt warm, comfortable.

“To be honest it was... kind of awkward. There were moments where we didn't have anything to say to one another.”

“Well, it will take time-”

A sharp scream sounded, ahead of them. Hotch let go of Spencer's hand and both rushed forward, to find Jack lying, on his back, on the ground, his eyes rolled back to his head.

“Jack! Jack!” Hotch knelt by his son. “Jack what happened?”

Jack didn't answer. Tearing off the Frankenstein mask, Spencer knelt beside him, feeling for a pulse and was rewarded with a sharp 'thud thud' under his fingers.

“I think he was running and tripped, fell backwards,” Spencer said, as he gently removed the Vader mask and felt around the back of Jack's head. He held his fingers up to Hotch, showing blood.

“Oh god!” Hotch whispered.

“Jack, can you hear me?” Spencer said, gently, grabbing his own shirt and tearing a strip off the bottom.

Jack murmured.

“What's that?” Spencer asked, gently moving the cloth under Jack's head and applying pressure.

Jack murmured again.

“Call nine one one,” He said to Hotch, who was staring at his son with an alarmed, almost panicked glaze in his eyes.

“Yes, ok, yes ok,” Hotch said, taking his mobile out of his pocket. Spencer noticed that his fingers trembled.

“Jack, can you squeeze my hand?” Spencer felt a distinct pressure on his hand, as Jack did as he was told.

“Ok, good boy.”

“911? Yes, ambulance. Please it's an emergency,” Hotch's voice shook.

“Spencer? I feel sick.”

“Ok, ok.” Gently supporting his neck and head, Spencer moved him to his side, where he abruptly threw up.

“Yes, we're on 54 Gloucester Street. My son, he's fallen and hit the back of his head on the pavement.... Yes, it's bleeding..... He was knocked out... about half a minute....He's awake now. And he just vomited.... Yes, please hurry.”

“Jack, do you feel any pain anywhere?” Spencer asked.

“Just, my head. Hurts. Feel so dizzy.”

Spencer started feeling his neck and back. “Does this hurt?”

“No.”

“What happened, Jack?”

“I think I tripped on my shoes. Feel so sick...”

“Jack...” Hotch's voice broke.

Spencer was more than grateful that the ambulance arrived within minutes. After listening to Spencer's account of what had occurred, and the first aid that he had given, the EMTs then performed their own examination (while Hotch stood beside him, looking pale and almost childlike, standing in the street in his Dracula costume, clasping his shaking hands together), they then bundled Jack onto the stretcher, and loaded him into the ambulance.

“So you'll be coming with us, I take it?” The male EMT asked Spencer.

“I'll go. I’m his father,” Hotch had spoken the first time, since the EMTs had arrived. His voice still sounded shaky, with a distinct new almost child-like tone.

“Oh, sorry,” even in the low light, cast by the street lamp, Spencer could see the flush on the man's face. “Of course. This way.”

“I'll follow in my car. Which hospital?” Spencer asked the female EMT.

“Inova Childrens,” the woman said.

“Ok, I'll be there as soon as I can!” Spencer said, to Hotch, who looked so lost and unsure of himself, that Spencer felt his heart ache.

Tbc...


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who are reading. :)
> 
> This chapter deals more with Hotch's rape, as well as including the usual smut and fluff.

After he spoke to her, the somewhat harried looking nurse at the emergency room reception desk ordered Spencer to Ward C, on the second floor. He then rushed to the elevator, pressing the button, before tapping his fingers impatiently on his thighs, as the doors remained obstinately closed.

_Come on, come on._

On the way to the hospital, he was pulled over, in his car, by a police officer and given a speeding ticket. He had attempted to explain to the officer that it was an emergency but the man refused to believe him. Even when he further explained that he was rushing to the hospital, because his partner's son had fallen and hit his head on concrete, the officer had simply pursed his lips and shoved the ticket into his hand. Spencer wondered, wryly, how often the officer had heard this excuse before. Or, perhaps it was that the officer simply didn't like his flustered, fast way of talking.

Giving up on the elevator, he located the emergency exit, pushed open the door and rushed up the stairs, exiting on the second floor. Blinking at the sudden bright fluorescent lights, he looked up at the sign above his head, that thankfully pointed him to Ward C. He then hurried through the maze of corridors, finally arriving at the right ward. Hotch, sat on a chair, a third of the way along the corridor, his hands placed primly in his lap, back rigid, face sternly set in Hotch's usual steeled pragmatism.

“Hey, sorry. I came as fast as I could,” Spencer said, as he sat down on the uncomfortable plastic chair, next to Hotch.

“It's... good news, I think,” Hotch said, grabbing Spencer's hand and holding it. On closer view, he still looked rather pale. “The paramedics said the cut on his head wasn't deep, it just appeared that way because of the bleeding. He won't need stitches. The doctors are quite sure that it's just a mild concussion. They're giving him an MRI now but they said it's mainly just a precaution.”

“That's great news,” Spencer said, feeling relief rush through his body. He placed his hand on top of Hotch's and squeezed.

“If you weren't there, I don't know what I would have done,” Hotch said.

“No, no I didn’t-”

“I just didn't know what to do. I think I panicked, at bit.”

“It's understandable. I think I would panic ,as well, if I had a son who hit his head on the pavement.”

A stern looking woman, in a long white coat, came out of the room opposite, her shoes clicking on the hard floor. Spencer withdrew his hand from on top of Hotch's, expecting Hotch to then let go of his own hand. Instead, Hotch gripped it tighter. The woman's eyes flicked to the held hands but her expression did not soften.

“We've just finished the MRI. We've discovered no abnormalities in the brain, caused by the impact to Jack's head. No bleeding or cranial trauma. It's clear that he simply suffered from a mild concussion.”

“Oh, thank god,” Hotch said.

“I would like to keep him in overnight, however. Just to keep an eye on him. Right now, he needs rest. We will give you a call, tomorrow morning, when he needs to be picked up.”

In that instant, a stretcher bed, containing Jack, was wheeled out of the room, behind her. Both Spencer and Hotch stood up.

“Jack, how are you buddy?” Hotch said, moving over to his son. Spencer lingered back, not wishing to interfere with the moment between father and son.

“I'm alright, dad. The nurses here are really nice.”

“Listen, they're going to keep you in, overnight, just to keep an eye on you. And I'll come pick you up, in the morning.”

“So everything is alright with me?”

“Of course! It's just to make sure you're ok.”

“Ok, love you, dad.”

“Love you, Jack.”

He stepped back and watched the orderlies push the stretcher up the corridor, with a pained expression on his face.

“He'll be alright,” Spencer said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“If he had really been seriously injured...You would have saved my son's life. You knew exactly what to do.”

“I would argue it would have been the _hospital_ who would have saved his life. He's going to be alright, Hotch. This is good news!”

“While I just stood and panicked, you just sprang into action.”

“I really didn't do much.”

Hotch started to walk towards the emergency exit, so Spencer followed. Once they were at the top of the stairwell, Hotch spoke again.

“After Hailey died... That's probably my worst fear. Something happening to Jack.”

“Of course! He's your son!”

“Thank you.” Hotch took Spencer's face in his hands and tenderly kissed him. “I think one of the best decisions in my life, was to ask you out for dinner, on your birthday.”

“So it was a 'date' then?” Spencer couldn't help the smile that graced his face.

“I don't know how I could make it up to you...”

“Honestly, Hotch, it wasn't-”

But he was cut off, by Hotch's lips on his, once more.

*

As soon as they entered the house, Hotch veritably pounced on him, Much kissing, fondling, sucking, licking and removing of clothes then followed, as both made their way over to collapse, together, on top of the couch.

“Where is that damned lube?” Spencer said, rummaging around with his right hand, while his left determined to touch every part of Hotch's body that it could. Finally locating the tube amongst the cushions, he held it up, triumphant. Hotch looked down at it, with a sudden opaque expression on his face.

“Make love to me,” he said, reaching over and popping the lid open.

“Are you sure?” Spencer asked, taken aback. This was certainly not what he was expecting from Hotch, that night, particularly after the anxiety that he had gone through, in regards to Jack.

“Yes, please, I want you to make love to me,” while the words were in the affirmative, Hotch's dark eyes showed fear, reluctance. He took the lube from Spencer's hands and squeezed some onto his own hands, starting to rub it onto Spencer's erection. “I want to show you how much I appreciate what you did for Jack tonight-”

Spencer didn't even realise, to begin with, that the shriek had come from his own mouth. He scrambled away from Hotch, seating himself on the far arm of the couch. Nausea twisted his stomach.

“What the hell is this? You think that I would just penetrate your body, as payment for helping Jack tonight, even though it's obvious that the thought terrifies you?”

“No, that's not-”

“Why do you think that I would accept that? That I would be fine, to essentially _rape_ you, as some sort of gift?”

Hotch's face was now the same pallor as when Jack had tripped over and smashed the back of his head, on the ground.

“You misunderstand. I don't want it to terrify me! I want to offer myself, for an experience that we will both enjoy! Look, I'm sorry. On the drive home, I started thinking about everything that you've done for me. And now, I want to give something back-”

“You seem to think that I'm obsessed with penetrating you! Like it's some kind of end game that I keep hoping that you'll give up eventually!”

“No, it's what I want! I want you to be part of me, to feel that closeness to you, to know.... “He stopped, red spots suddenly appearing on his cheeks.

“To know what?”

Hotch's eyes flicked away. Spencer folded his arms and waited.

“To know that it can be... pleasurable, with someone that I love and trust.”

Spencer unfolded his arms, the nausea returning, and growing stronger.

Hotch took a deep breath. “I haven't told anyone this. Not even my psychologist. I told you that Foyett accused me of 'enjoying it'... During the rape he...touched me... made me... made me climax...” He said the last word as a sob, tears running down his face. “I felt disgusted and sickened and I fought against it the entire time but it still happened...”

Spencer felt the clunk of a jigsaw piece suddenly falling into its correct place.

“A lot of rapists will-”

“Yes, yes I know. Rapists will deliberately force their victims to feel pleasure, as a way to psychologically torture them more. Well, I can attest that it's a brilliant strategy,” he said, tears running freely down his face, now.

Spencer moved back over to him and pulled him into his arms, not knowing what to say. It occurred to him that if this was a stranger, on a case, he would possibly come up with some wisdom. However, the fact that this was Hotch, drove such words from his mind. Anything he said now would seem trite, even condescending. Besides, Hotch, as a fellow profiler, knew the psychological reasoning behind his rapists actions, as well as his own, in regards to the rape. As Hotch wrapped his arms around Spencer and cried into his shoulder, it was obvious that the intellectual knowledge did nothing to preclude the shame and anguish that he felt.

“I didn't meant to insult you, before,” Hotch said, as he pulled away and wiped his nose and eyes. “I want it... so much... and I hate that my body is so against it...I want to give you the ecstasy that I feel, when I'm making love to you and I want to _feel_ the ecstasy I see in your face.”

“I want it too,” Spencer admitted. “But not while you're clearly still sickened by the thought of it.”

_I want to help you. I'm just not sure how to._

“It's been quite the evening. Maybe we should have an early night,” Spencer suggested.

“I don't think I could sleep, even if I wanted to.”

*  
They did go to bed, not long after. There was no lovemaking. Spencer didn't even realise how exhausted he felt, until he climbed under the warm covers. He closed his eyes and allowed the sweet release of sleep to take over.

At one point in the night, he slowly awoke, to the sensation of light touches in his hair, followed by a finger stroking along his lips, then up his cheek.

“Spencer? You awake?”

He felt too far gone into sleep-land to respond. Lips brushed his own. And again.

“Sleep well, beautiful,” he heard in his ear. Another kiss on his nose. Then the feel of Hotch withdrawing completely from the bed.

When he awoke again, it was still dark out. He realised that he was alone, in the bed. The alarm clock read three am. Climbing out of bed, he moved down the hall, to the kitchen, where he he expected to see Hotch, seated at the dining table. The entire dining room, kitchen and lounge room were empty. He was starting to suspect that Hotch had left the house, when he noticed a dim light issuing from the back porch. He went back to the bedroom and grabbed a thick coat from the wardrobe, pulling it on, then returned down the hall and opened the back door.

“Hey,” Hotch said, as he came outside to sit beside him.

“Did you get any sleep?” He asked, noting the dark circles under Hotch's eyes.

“A little,” Hotch admitted, placing an arm around his waist and kissing his neck. His other hand stroked up and down his thigh. “I was actually about to go inside again. I was sitting here, thinking why am I feeling sorry for myself, when I have the most incredible,” he kissed Spencer's neck again, “gorgeous man currently asleep in my bed.”

“Why would you be feeling sorry for yourself?”

Hotch shook his head. “Nothing, just being an idiot.”

“You're not an idiot!” Spencer chided. “No boyfriend of mine would be an idiot.”

Hotch lifted up his hand and kissed it, then was silent a few seconds, looking out into the darkened back yard.

“Jack's going to get the biggest scolding about slowing down when dad tells him to, when he gets home!”

Spencer rather thought that the poor boy had already learnt his lesson, but decided it was not his place to interfere

“I was thinking, with you moving in...”

“Yes?” _Here is where he tells me he's changed his mind._

“Jack is my son. Therefore my responsibility. I won't expect you to be another parent, to him.”

Spencer considered this. When Hotch had asked him to move in with him, he had jumped to respond in the affirmative. But then, had he truly thought it through? Even when Hotch had specifically talked about Jack, he had simply brushed it aside. But, did he truly want to move in with a man and child together? Spencer absolutely adored his godson, Henry, but had never given much thought to having a child of his own.

“I like Jack...” Spencer admitted. “But, it's true. I'm not sure if I'm up to being a parent...”

“I'll tell you a secret. I don't always feel like _I'm_ up to being a parent, or I should say, being the best parent that I want to be. I'm just saying that I don't expect you to feel like you have to look after Jack. That fact that you both get along is a bonus. I asked you to move in because, well, firstly Jack would love it. And, most importantly...”

“What?”

“Well, I already told you why I want you to move in.”

“Remind me again...”

“Oddly enough, I like spending time with you. I don't find you such unpleasant company,” he said, wryly.

“I... I love you,” Spencer said, the words almost jumbling together. He hoped there would come a time when he would be able to say it without feeling a little awkward.

Hotch replied by moving forward and kissing him on the lips.

“Should we go back to bed?” He asked, huskily.

Spencer stood up and followed him into the house.

The lovemaking that followed was finally enough to send Hotch to sleep. Spencer lay awake, content simply to listen to his lover's deep even breaths, as he ran a finger through his short dark hair strands.

*  
Hotch was mainly silent, on the way home from the hospital the next day. He waited until all three people were in the house, before turning to Spencer.

“Can you give us a few seconds?”

“Sure,” Spencer said, watching Hotch lead Jack out of the lounge room and into the hall, closing the door behind them. Spencer went into the kitchen and started adding coffee to the peculator machine. Hotch's voice suddenly sounded, from behind the door.

“... not to run! You could have been seriously injured! You scared the hell out of me!”

Spencer quickly finished pouring the ground coffee into the machine and switched it on, hoping the noise would cover the shouting. He then took the milk out of the fridge and poured some into Hotch's mug, before going to the pantry and taking the sugar out. The door then opened and Hotch came into the room, still looking rather aggrieved. Spencer could hear sobbing, coming from Jack's bedroom. He secretly felt that Hotch was being a little unfair but decided it was not his place to say.

“Mmm... coffee... smells good...” He said, wrapping his arm around Spencer's waist and kissing him on the back of the neck.

“So, what's the plan for today?”

“I thought we could go to the beach. What do you think?”

“The beach?” He looked out of the kitchen window, to the dismal grey sky. “It looks cold outside! Why would you go to the beach?”

“Precisely! Jack and I often go on days like today. Guaranteed to have no other people about. We'll have it all to ourselves.”

“Well, I don't like the beach. _Especially_ on days like today.”

Spencer shot him a disgruntled look.

“Come on, Spencer, it will be fun, you'll see. Trust me on this.”

_No! I'm guaranteed not to find it fun!_

“I hope when I move in, you won't expect me to go to places, with you, that I despise,” Spencer said, making his exasperation obvious.

From the sudden irritated expression on Hotch's face, that was the wrong thing to say.

“Fine then! How about you go back to your apartment, then? Jack and I will go to the beach,” Hotch said, then stormed out of the room.

Spencer poured the now brewed coffee into his cup, wondering what had just occurred, between them or, more precisely, why he had just been so wantonly savage.

After about a minute, he heard footsteps down the hall. Hotch returned, expression still unchanged.

“I'm sorry,” Spencer said. “I don't know why I said that.”

“If you don't want to go to the beach, that's fine,” Hotch said, his face showing an expression that was dangerously close to work-Hotch's usual bearing. “I was serious. It will give you some time to go back to your apartment, maybe start going through your stuff.”

“No, it's alright. I want to go.”

“To be honest, I don't want you to go, if you're just going to complain the entire time. Jack and I want to have a nice day,” Hotch's voice continued with the flat tone, his expression still severe.

“You're in a bad mood!” Spencer scowled. “You're in a bad mood and you're taking it out on me!”

“I'm not in a bad mood! I'm actually in a good mood! You’re the one that's in a bad mood!” Hotch responded, his voice finally breaking from the almost robotic work-Hotch tone.

“I'm not in a bad mood!” Spencer raised his voice. “I just don't like the beach!”

Hotch stared at him a moment, his expression breaking from the severe stoicism, to what appeared to be impressed bemusement. He then burst out laughing.

“Why are you laughing?” Spencer said, still feeling irritated.

“Because we're standing here arguing over who's the one that's in a bad mood!” His tone then softened. “Honestly, if you don't want to go to the beach, that's fine. We'll think of something else to do.”

Spencer weight up his own personal dislike of the beach, with the fact that it was obviously an important, reminiscent event for Hotch and Jack. He supposed he could forgo some discomfort, for a greater cause.

“I want to go to the beach,” he said, quietly.

“Alright, then,” Hotch smiled. “We'll have a good time, you'll see. I'll grab a thermal long sleeved top for you to wear underneath your clothes. Warm you up. Oh, and by the way,” Hotch suddenly stepped forward, running his fingers through Spencer's hair. “When you move in, I'll expect you to go to the beach every day. In the water. And where else? Hospital! We'll go to hospital when we don't need to. Just for the thrill of it. Actually, I'll come up with a list of personally despised places to take you to. We can tick off each one, as we go.”

“I don't know where that came from. It was... well as you've pointed out, it was ultimately a nonsensical statement.”

“A long time ago, I realised I would never work out entirely what goes on in that massive brain of yours,” Hotch said. “Anyway, let's grab some clothes for you. Get you rugged up, so you're at least not going to be cold.”

“Well, I definitely am not going into the water, I'll tell you that much!”

*

Hearing the wind whistle through the desolate sand dunes, Spencer wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck, grabbing the base of the towel that he was currently sitting on and wrapping it around his feet, for added warmth. A few metres before him, Hotch and Jack had taken off their shoes and were currently frolicking in ankle deep water. Spencer could come up with precisely twenty-three reasons why this was not a good idea. However, they did seem to be enjoying themselves. Jack was currently laughing, on top of Hotch's shoulders.

Spencer's knowledge of the Diagnosis and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders was rather precise. He had the bemused thought that they could add a new disorder involving people who frolicked in cold beach water on freezing autumn days. His mind then went to his own mother's current mental status, and he felt hot shame creep over his cheeks, at the thought of even inwardly joking about mental illness.

Watching Hotch swing Jack around and around, while the boy hooted with laughter, it occurred to Spencer that Hotch truly seemed to come alive when he was with his son. Spencer thought abut his own fractured relationship with his father, feeling the usual complicated emotions, of one who never had the chance for the kind of relationship that Hotch now had with his son. He hadn't heard from his father in such a long time. For the first time in years, he wondered what he was doing. Would he be happy for him, that he was in a serious relationship with his superior?

His thoughts then went back to his mum. Guilt coursed through him. He hadn't been in contact with her for a while, now. What was his excuse? That he was busy with his new boyfriend? His mother, of all people, would be thrilled for him, in regards to his relationship with Hotch. This he knew, for sure.

In front of him, Hotch released Jack from his shoulders and the child went running towards Spencer.

“Spencer, I wanted to ask you something,” Jack said, between pants of breath, as he reached him. “Dad said you'd know more than him. I wanted to ask you about sharks.”

Sharks? Certainly, Spencer knew about sharks.

“What do you want to know?”

“Are they all dangerous?”

“Statistically, you have more chance of being hit by lightning, than being killed by a shark. Infact, _we_ are the biggest predators to sharks. Humans kill millions of sharks per year.”

Jacks eyes widened.

“Sharks have been on earth, in their basic current form, for over four-hundred million years, long before dinosaurs, which are estimated to have evolved around two hundred and thirty-one million years ago.”

“Wow!” Jack said.

Spencer smiled, starting to enjoy himself, as he continued espousing the reasons why he revered the predators of the deep. Jack placed his towel down on the sand opposite Spencer and sat down, to listen. It occurred to Spencer that Jack was one of the few people who was actually interested, when he talked, in detail, about a particular topic. Jack even stopped Spencer in his rambling monologues, to intersperse the occasional question. Hotch placed his towel next to Spencer and sat down. He felt Hotch's arm wrap around his waist to rest gently on his hip. Not even Hotch seemed as enthused with his long ruminations of a particular topic, as Jack was. Hotch did seem content to listen, however. But then, Hotch had already told him that he found this particular aspect of Spencer's personality 'adorable'. Hotch was rather a strange man.

*

“So, I was thinking...” Jack began, later, after he'd buckled himself into the car seat. “Dad says you actually have a copy of the original Star Wars. As in before the special edition, when they added in all of that stuff that's not needed.”

_Stuff that's not needed..._

Spencer grinned, bemused by Jack's statement.

“Well, I had all three movies on tape. And Garcia, our tech wizard, she placed them on DVD for me.”

“I was kind of hoping that we could watch it. I only have the special editions and they're not as good.”

Spencer looked at Hotch.

_Somehow I know where this is heading..._

“We could swing by yours, to pick it up,” Hotch suggested.

“I guess...”

“If you don’t want to...”

“That's alright,” he said, then looked out of the window, a slight frown downturning his lips.

*

Once inside his apartment, Spencer went straight to the cabinet perpendicular to the television, opened the glass door and took out the three Star Wars DVDs.

“Ok, here it is, so we-”

Jack was kneeling in front of his bookcase. “Wow! You have so many Terry Pratchett books. That's so cool.”

“I thought, while you were here, you could grab some stuff to take to mine,” Hotch said.

“No, let's just go,” he said, sternly.

Jack turned to look at him.

“Is everything-?” Hotch asked.

Spencer faked a smile. “Everything is fine.”

*

Once inside, their house, Hotch placed the keys on the hook, by the door, then turned to Jack. “Jack, go play in your room.”

“But I thought Spencer-”

“Please, Jack...”

Looking despondent, Jack trod out of the room. Hotch then stepped up and closed the door that separated the lounge room and kitchen from the hallway. Spencer followed, leaning against the kitchen bench.

“OK, what’s wrong?” He said, turning back to face Spencer.

“Nothing!”

Hotch said nothing, simply continued to look at him.

“I don't like the beach! But you insisted on going.”

“I thought we already went over this. If you didn't want to go, you didn't have to! Besides, it looked, to me, that you were having a good time!”

Spencer admitted that Hotch was correct, there.

“Well, I didn't want to go to mine. But I felt like I had no choice but to say yes.”

“Why is that?” A distinct frown line appeared between Hotch's eyebrows.

“Because I didn't want to let Jack down! Why did you tell him about my Star Wars DVDs?”

“He loves Star Wars. You know that. I thought it would be a fun thing for the three of us to do together.”

“I feel like we always do what you want to do, go where you want to go. You don't seem to care about anything that I might be interested in!”

“That is absolutely untrue! I'm not even major fan of Star Wars. I want to watch it because you and Jack want to watch it. I'm not a particular fan of trick-or-treating but I went because you and Jack both wanted to go. It was your idea to go to the Alexandra Hotel... which was, by the way, a brilliant idea! Where is this coming from?” Hotch sighed. “Spencer...” he shook his head. “What are you feeling insecure about?”

Spencer shook his head. Hotch was right. He just didn’t know, himself, the reason why.

“Spencer, I do pretty much everything that you want to do. I constantly remind you how much I love and adore you. If you're feeling insecure, well that’s on you to work out.”

“I'm sorry,” he said, looking down at his feet.

Hotch was silent but Spencer was certain that he was looking at him. “I told you... repeatedly, that if you were uncomfortable with something to tell me!” He could hear the frustration in Hotch's voice.

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“And don't worry about Jack! He can go without a Star Wars DVD for one night!”

Spencer didn't know what to say. Hearing movement, he looked up, to see Hotch start to go through the pantry, pulling out items, clearly with the intention of making dinner.

“I don't know why I said that we always do what you want to do. I know it's not true.”

“It's fine,” Hotch said, his expression in direct contrast to his words, as he placed paprika and pepper on the kitchen counter.

“I’m sorry. I really am. Because I love you so much and I just feel awful to see the look on your face right now. But you're right. It's to do with me and my silly Spencer Reid insecurities, not you.”

Hotch put down the defrosted chicken pieces currently in his hands, swiftly strode over to where Spencer stood and cupped his face in his hands. Spencer could now read only warmth and love in the dark irises.

“Well, it's true,” Hotch's voice was gentle. “You are being extremely silly, right now. Because I am completely in love with you. Every aspect of Spencer Reid is endlessly fascinating and delightful to me.”

“Even when I'm acting insecure?”

Hotch smiled. “Even then.”

He bent down and kissed Spencer, who eagerly responded, blessing, again, the god of Science, that Aaron Hotchner deigned him worthy enough to love.

*

After dinner, Hotch put “A New Hope” into the DVD player, then settled back onto the couch, next to Spencer, as Jack sat down on the beanbag beneath them. Spencer instantly felt Hotch's arm go around his waist. He responded by grabbing Hotch's hand. As the John Williams music started, Spencer recalled Hotch saying that he wasn’t a major fan of Star Wars. He felt a shock of guilt spasm his stomach and vowed to make up for it later.

*  
Spencer moaned, rocking in time to Hotch's movements. His decision to give Hotch an incredible sexual encounter seemed marred by the fact that he was enjoying himself so much that his focus was more on his impending orgasm, than Hotch's pleasure. He felt the bedroom door behind his back, his legs wrapped so hard around Hotch's waist, he was sure that he was hurting him. However from Hotch's groans, he didn't seem to care. What he found particularly remarkable, was that Hotch could support his weight, to begin with. Morgan had been able to, but then Morgan was a rather muscular man. Hotch was clearly stronger than he looked. Somehow, this made the frenzied sex against the door even more alluring. He could feel Hotch's hand stroking his erection, his lips against his neck. Spencer had no choice but to hook his arms around his lover's neck, to keep from falling. Hotch thrusted up again and again, deep inside him, and he felt himself overcome, his moans becoming cries of ecstasy, the pleasure crashing down over him, in waves of unmitigated ferocity.

He continued to moan, as the pleasure ebbed away from him. Finally, he felt that he had the ability to at least put a few words together.

“That was... that was incredible...” He felt drained now, boneless, zapped of all energy. It took all of his control, to continue holding onto Hotch, who had been spurred, by Spencer's climax, to even more frenzied movements.

“Spencer...oh my love...”

Hotch's teeth latched onto his neck, gently biting ( _guess I'll be wearing a scarf at work tomorrow. Although Morgan will probably be the first to notice and know why_ ) before moving to his shoulder. He could hear Hotch's cries against his flesh, and felt immense power, that he could reduce such an articulate man to nonsensical noises, his body trembling against Spencer's own, as he climaxed inside him. Spencer waited until he came down completely, before dropping his legs and unhooking his arms.

Both moved silently to the bed and climbed in, before Hotch spoke.

“I have a confession...” Hotch said, as he suddenly crawled over Spencer, placing his knees on either side of his hips, as he looked down at him. “Almost every time I look at you, I think about wanting to touch you.” He reached onto the bedside table for the lube, grabbing Spencer's hand and squeezing some of the substance onto his fingers. “You are _that_ beautiful,” he said, running his hand along Spencer's face. His other hand grabbed Spencer's and moved it past his now lax penis.

“Please... just, your finger... I want to know how it feels...”

“Are you sure?” Spencer asked.

Hotch leant forward and kissed his neck. “Yes, just.... please...”

Spencer tenderly moved his finger into Hotch's body. He felt some tension there.

“It's ok, it's ok.”

Spencer moved the digit further forward but deliberately stopped, before his prostate. Hotch breathed out.

“That's alright. You can add another. It's alright.”

Spencer tenderly added another finger, slowly, carefully, watching the emotions wash over Hotch's face. He saw no fear or extreme discomfort, only steeled determination.

“Ok, you can stop,” Hotch said, after about fifteen seconds. Spencer slowly pulled out both fingers.

“Thank you,” Hotch said, leaning down to kiss him on the lips, before moving his feet and legs off him and sliding down to rest his head and right hand on his chest. “I'm not too heavy am I?”

“Like a blue whale,” Spencer said, reaching down to run his fingers through Hotch's hair.

“Mm...” Hotch turned his head, to kiss Spencer's left pectoral, before resting it on top, once more

“Work tomorrow. Jack will be picked up at seven. Maybe we should set the alarm for five. I want to wake up and kiss every inch of that gorgeous body.”

“Fine, as long as we then have sex against the door again. Tomorrow, I want you to think about me every time you even _look_ at a door.”

“You are a cruel cruel man. Deal!”

Spencer laughed, as Hotch fumbled to change the alarm clock.

Tbc...


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff in this chapter, some angst. Lots of smut. Enjoy!

From the other side of the sand dune, his father waved at him, before commencing to walk over, to where he was crouching, on the ground. Spencer continued to scoop the white beach sand into the bucket, determined to ignore him. A loud siren filled the air, a sharp buzzing sound. Spencer determined to ignore that too-

He opened his eyes, the dream evaporating from his mind. Beside him, Hotch groaned and flung his hand out to switch off the alarm. Spencer moved closer, snuggling up beside him.

“Good morning,” Spencer said, kissing the side of his lover's neck. Hotch turned and entangled his legs in Spencer’s.

“Morning...” He said, sounding sleepy. Spencer scooted forward a little, to kiss him on his lips, before pulling back, his face only inches from Hotch's. He wondered if there would ever come a time, when he would wake up and not feel absolute joy, at the sight of the man lying next to him. He hoped that would never come to pass.

Hotch opened his eyes. “Now that's a lovely sight to wake up to.”

Spencer moved his head forward to touch lips with him again, their tongues tangling together, at a leisurely pace.

“We'd better get up,” Hotch said, making the move to sit up. Spencer rolled him onto his back and sat astride his thighs, grinning down at Hotch's mock irritated expression.

“We can be a bit late, can't we? Well, _you_ have your psychologist appointment. _I_ can be a bit late to work.”

He deliberately wandered his eyes down Hotch's naked body, where his tongue and mouth had lovingly trailed the night before. “Hm... I can see that we're _both_ in the mood for making love.”

Hotch groaned, as he reached down and started stroking his erection.

“Throw me the lube. I'm certain this will be quick,” Spencer said.

Six minutes later, a still gasping Spencer lay, collapsed beneath Hotch. Spencer's hand traced patterns over Hotch's buttocks. The intensity of their lovemaking was spurred on by the fact that Hotch was becoming more comfortable with Spencer using his fingers to internally stimulate him. To Spencer, there was something utterly alluring about watching Hotch's open mouthed expression of pure excitement, as he used his long fingers, to bring him to the brink, of sexual satisfaction, before withdrawing them, hooking his legs around Hotch's shoulders and allowing his lover to pound him into an almost insensible hot mess.

“Once again, you've topped yourself. I didn't think it was possible,” Spencer said, finally getting his breath back enough to speak. “That was pretty damned incredible.”

“I'll have to agree with that. I think I orgasmed so hard I exploded something in my brain.”

Spencer laughed. “I don't think that would be possible. Unless you have an already underlying medical condition, such as an aneurism, then-”

“Sh... don't destroy the moment with your cold Spencer Reid logic. I'm still coasting on the incredible sex that we just had.”

“Do you think it was the best yet?”

“Hm... if I were to order our sexually intimate moments, which are always amazing? Where to even begin?” Spencer felt Hotch's hand reach up to run through his sweat-soaked hair. “Actually, I did like our 'first time' together.”

“That was... sweet...”

Hotch laughed. “In other words not amazing.”

“It's just that I felt so nervous. I just couldn't believe that I was about to be intimate with you.”

“I was the same. As you know, it had been the first time with another man since... since Foyett. You were so vulnerable, so trusting. I was determined not to hurt you. Also, I think I was a bit overwhelmed by just how incredibly beautiful you are. Although, to be truthful, even now, when we make love, I tend to get overwhelmed by your beauty.”

Spencer went quiet, not sure how to respond. Even though both Morgan and Hotch had told him he was 'beautiful', he still didn't quite see it. If he was so damned beautiful, in the past, he would have gone out with people all the time, wouldn't he? Morgan and Hotch, who he did consider 'beautiful' in the aesthetic sense, seemed to always have no problem finding dates.

“I'm not the only one who thinks so,” Hotch said, correctly reading his sceptical expression. “I know of more than a fair few people who, when they first saw you, were mesmerised, but immediately thought that you were too far above their level. 'He's so beautiful, as well as a genius, he wouldn't look twice at me, I won't even bother.' The irony is, your beauty and intellect, in the past, worked _against_ you. Hell, for the longest time, I thought _I'd_ have no chance with you. It's why I didn't act sooner.”

“I believe you, when you say that _you_ find me beautiful.”

“I do,” he said simply. “And a lot of other people agree. But, lucky for me, you only have eyes for me.”

“Eyes, and hands and other parts of my body...” Spencer reached down and started lightly fondling him.

“Hm....” Hotch said, nuzzling against his neck. “How about we take a shower together?”

“I don't know.... I like the idea of not showering and spending the day at work, knowing that your body fluids are on me... in me...” Spencer said, kissing his ear, stroking harder. Hotch groaned. “It seems you like that idea, too.”

“If you keep talking that way, we'll have to make love again.”

“Won't that be a pity...Going to work, knowing that twice this morning, you've copulated with me, until we were both screaming with pleasure.”

“Maybe I prefer making love in a different way. Going to work knowing that I used only my tongue... to have you screaming with pleasure...” Hotch now reached down to start reciprocally fondling Spencer. “Going to work still having your _taste_ in my mouth, on my tongue.”

“Hotch...” Spencer groaned.

“After that torture, the other week, where... it's true, at work, I couldn't even _look_ at a door, without longing to make love to you right up against it.... maybe I should get my own back. So, what should I do...? How about this? On the drive home, I'll drive us somewhere secluded, then place you in the back seat, strip off all of your clothes, lick you all over, then, when you're begging for more, take that beautiful body, nice and slow to begin with, and then harder, faster, until you understand what I meant when I said earlier that it felt like my brain had exploded.”

Spencer couldn't believe it. He was already hard, again.

“I see you agree with this, then?” Hotch said, then slid down his body. His prediction turned out to be true. His tongue could make Spencer scream with passion.

*  
Spencer liked to think that he was good at compartmentalising. This was particularly true, when it came to sexual arousal. Perhaps it was because he had spent so many years with no company, in which to focus his arousal on, that he was able to simply switch off that part of his brain.

In terms of the case, that day, which involved an arsonist, he felt that he had done alright. He was able to simply not focus on his and Hotch's rather intimate morning, but, rather, on the profile, itself. However, as soon as Hotch walked in, at precisely 1.03pm, his mind instantly went to the 'promise' that Hotch had given that morning, of what he was going to do to Spencer later that night, in his car. Spencer's body instantly responded, in a rather humiliating way. Quickly excusing himself, and then withdrawing from where Rossi was talking to him, he strode to the bathroom ( _Nothing to see here. Nothing to see here_ ) and locked himself into one of the stalls. Perhaps he could 'think himself down'.

No, he unzipped his pants. Better to just... just get it over with.

He took himself in hand and started to stroke, in his mind, picturing Hotch coming into the toilet, sinking to his knees and taking Spencer into his mouth... using the technique he'd perfected that morning. It didn't take long for him to gasp his release. He then flushed the toilet, zipped himself up, walked out of the stall and washed his hands.

Not in the same league as when he was actually with Hotch, but at least he felt some relief and could conceivably now comprehensively refocus on the task, at hand.

He stepped back out of the bathroom, and walked through the busy police station, back to the small conference room, where Rossi cast him a curious glance. Hotch was already conversing with the lead detective.

“Your Doctor Spencer, here, did notice, in the news footage that covered the three fires, the same man, in the background, every time. Well, after you guys said that perps usually like to come back and watch the police investigation, we nabbed the guy. He was a weirdo, alright. Unfortunately, he wasn't _our_ guy. Had to let him go. But I'll keep my eye on him.”

“It is likely that he is already an arsonist in the making, he simply hasn't been caught, yet. But I agree, he's definitely one to keep an eye on,” Hotch said.

Spencer watched the interaction, finding it hard to reconcile the serious, straight- talking man, with the one who had made love to him twice that morning, who had cuddled him on the couch, the night before, whispering constant, almost annoying endearments in his ear, seeming to be more interested in Spencer, himself, than the Star Trek film that he was trying to watch.

“Unfortunately, we're back to square one,” the detective said.

“Alright, tell me everything,” Hotch said.

*

The perp turned out to be one of the firemen, who had battled the blazes. Although he refused to confess, lawyering up as soon as the evidence came through, linking his DNA to all three fires, the team already knew his motivation. Not content to be already seen as a hero, in the public eye, by the mere fact of his job, he deliberately set the fires, in a way that he knew how to control, so he could personally rush out to combat them and therefore garner even more public attention. The team had profiled the arsonist as a narcissist and, right down to his bulked up muscles and fake tan, this man certainly fit the type.

After the short trip back to Virginia, Rossi and Morgan expressed the desire to have quick drink at the local pub. The others declined. Spencer was not entirely averse to the idea... he was simply far more interested in going in Hotch's car... for a drive.

“Maybe we'll come a bit later,” Hotch said to Rossi, picking up his case, off his desk, while Spencer stood next to him, excitedly shifting from foot to foot. “There's something that we need to do, first.”

*

As cruise control kept the car at sixty-five miles per hour, on the freeway, Hotch and Spencer didn't talk much. For Spencer's part, he was very aware of his own erection and was recalling, in detail, Einstein’s paper on the theory of relativity, in an effort to calm down his already overexcited mind.

Hotch pulled the vehicle into a darkened, empty truck stop, about seventy feet off the side of the road and surrounded by bushland, before turning off the ignition.

“How about we get into the back seat?”

“I think that's a great idea,” Spencer said, scrambling out of the car and then pulling open the back door. As Hotch joined him on the back seat, hastily pulling off his clothes, and kissing and licking his flesh, as it appeared, it occurred to him that this was the first time that he'd ever made love, in a car. It felt exciting, naughty. Dangerous.

Hotch then made good on his earlier promise, and started to lick down his neck, followed by his chest, then moving on, to his stomach. It was cramped, in the space but somehow, Hotch seemed to find room,continuing his slow, steady path across and down to Spencer's body to his erection. Here, he stopped, to give some very loving attention.

It wasn't long before Spencer was gasping and begging, as he'd theorised. He grabbed the lube out of his pocket, uncapped it, and slowly entered his finger, into Spencer, as he moved Spencer's hand to his own opening. It was an odd sensation, moving his lube slicked finger in Hotch, as his lover did the same to him. Odd enough to be powerfully stimulating. Feeling the cloth of Hotch's shirt brush up against him, as he removed his fingers, and poured more lube onto his erection, Spencer was aware that while Hotch had not fully undressed, he was completely naked. There was something in this vulnerability, that made the sex even more arousing. Spencer withdrew his finger, as Hotch manoeuvred them, in the cramped space, flinging Spencer's legs over his head and slowly entering him. Spencer at this point, was so aroused that the sexual intercourse did not take long at all. Within minutes, as Hotch predicted, he was screaming his orgasm. Hotch thrust forward a few more times, his mouth buried in Spencer's neck, muffling his cries, as Spencer felt the familiar warmth, deep inside of himself.

Both were silent, as Hotch helped Spencer to redress, before both switched back into the front of the car.

“So, I take it your psychologist appointment went well today, then?” Spencer asked. Hotch laughed.

“Thank you. That was amazing. Even better than this morning.” Spencer said before leaning over to kiss the side of Hotch's face.

“Yes, I'll give that one a high distinction.”

As Hotch pulled out of the truck stop, a rather sated Spencer stared at his face, drinking in the chiselled jaw and long dark eyelashes, the very light freckles across his nose.

_And he calls me the beautiful one..._

“Could we do that again, some time soon?” Spencer asked.

“I think that's a very good idea.”

*

“I trust Jack. I know he won't break it,” Spencer said, as both him and Hotch stepped into the busy pub.

“I know, it's just... it's _your_ telescope.”

“Well, there's no space in your room,” Spencer said, spying Rossi and Morgan, seated in a booth, in the far corner, thankfully away from the loud jukebox and crowded dance floor. Rossi had his hand up and was hailing them.

“ _Our_ room, Spencer,” Hotch said. “Anyway, my suggestion is the lounge room, then. That way, anyone can use it.”

“It's a shame your house is all one level. No balcony to place it on.”

“Well, there's- oh no. I can't believe I haven't noticed until now.”

“Noticed what?”

“I... think I got a bit carried away.” Hotch's eyes weren't focused on his, any more, but were looking at something on the left side of his neck.

_Oh no, not..._

Hotch leant in closer to him. “You have the most adorable hicky on your neck.”

_Certainly. Why not, indeed?_

“Great! So the one on the right finally goes, only to be replaced by one on the left!”

“Well, how about you give me one? We could say it's a deliberate aesthetic we're going for,” Hotch said drolly. “Go on,” he slightly tilted his head, exposing his neck.

“I'll have to cover my neck the entire night. This is going to be awkward.”

“People probably won't even notice. I only noticed because I'm standing right next to you.”

“Morgan will. He notices everything.”

“Well, just tell him the truth, then. He knows we're together. Tell him _I_ gave it to you.”

“I don't know,” Spencer murmured. He noticed, ahead of them, Rossi looking perplexed, Morgan, bemused. “Come on, we'd better-”

Hotch then did something that he had never done before, in public. He suddenly grabbed Spencer, hooking his arm around his chest, before giving him a rather salivary kiss, right on top of the hicky. Spencer jumped, startled, looking around, as Hotch let him go. No one else in the pub seemed to pay them any attention, apart from two women, seated at the bar, who were whispering to each other and smiling at them, and Rossi and Morgan. Rossi was smiling and shaking his head. Morgan appeared contemplative.

“Why did you do that?” Spencer asked, reaching up to wipe the saliva off his neck.

“Because even your slight discomfort at the moment is adorable to me. I just gave in to my overwhelming urge to kiss you.”

“Oh yes? Is this adorable?” He said repressing the urge to roll his eyes, as he flicked Hotch lightly on the nose. “Is it?” He flicked him again. “How about this?” He stuck out his tongue.

“Adorable,” Hotch said.

“Oh shut up,” Spencer said, laughing. “What about if I poke you? Adorable? Adorable? Adorable?” He said, poking Hotch in his ribs, as Hotch started squirming and laughing.

“That tickles!” Hotch said.

_He's ticklish? Something to keep in mind..._

Feeling victorious, Spencer glanced over to where Morgan and Rossi were sitting. Rossi had picked up the drinks menu and was looking at it. Morgan continued to watch Spencer and Hotch. There was none of the usual humour, on his face. However, he did not appear entirely unhappy, either.

“Now Morgan knows you're just as much of a freak as I am!”

“Oh I've always been a freak,” Hotch said.

Spencer laughed again, as they made their way to Rossi and Hotch's booth and sat down.

“I thought you two would _never_ come over,” Rossi said. “Now you've stopped being cute, what do you want to drink?”

“Just a light beer for me,” Hotch said.

“Same,” Spencer said. He felt Hotch's hand reach under the booth, his thumb lightly stroking his thigh through fabric of his trousers.

“I'll get it,” Morgan said. “I want a refill anyway.”

Spencer watched him leave, with a slightly downcast feeling.

“How are you going with the moving?” Rossi asked. Out of the entire team, so far, Hotch and Spencer had only informed Rossi and JJ. Upon being told, JJ gave a little very un-JJ squeal of delight and then hugged him.

“It's so obvious for me, that you two are just perfect together,” she had said, before offering her services, in any capacity in the moving.

“Getting there. We're just moving in things bit by bit,” Hotch said. Feeling adventurous, Spencer placed his own hand over Hotch's. Hotch then grabbed his hand and held it.

“Well, I am very excited by the thought of Reid's vast DVD collection. I may be over more often than I already am.”

“Then we'll just have to be even more cute, in front of you,” Hotch said, dryly.

“I can put up with the power of cutesy couples, to watch an entertaining movie,” Rossi said. “Where did you go before, anyway? Do I even want to know?”

Spencer felt his face flush. Hotch, however, appeared completely nonplussed.

“Probably not.”

Rossi was silent a moment. “So, did you catch the game the other night?”

Spencer zoned out, as the two friends talked sports. He never begrudged Hotch wanting to occasionally watch a sports match. In deference to Spencer, this was a rare event. Even so, if it was a particularly special match, Spencer would often simply take a book to the lounge and read it, allowing Hotch to indulge.

Morgan returned to the table, placing the two beers before Hotch and Spencer, before sliding in next to Spencer. Hotch continued to hold Spencer's hand, using his spare hand to lift the glass, so Spencer followed suite. As Spencer had predicted, Morgan instantly zeroed in on his neck.

_For a genius, you surely can be an idiot, at times! Why didn't you just sit on Morgan's other side?_

“So... had some fun tonight, pretty boy?” Morgan said, smiling.

Hotch suddenly ceased conversation with Rossi.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Spencer murmured.

“I don't recall that mark on your neck, earlier today. It's very... interesting.”

“What's interesting about it?” Hotch said.

“I'm just teasing, Hotch,” Morgan said.

“I put the mark on his neck, is that what you want to hear?” Hotch said. Spencer felt as though he could melt right into the floor. He could feel Hotch squeeze his hand tighter.

“Honestly, I was joking around. I don't-”

“We went out tonight and made love.”

There it was. Spencer snatched his hand away from Hotch's, resisting the strong urge to leave the table completely.

“Oh boy...” Rossi said, suddenly interested in the drinks menu again.

“Would you like to know where? When? Would you like to know details?”

“What I would like to know is why you're humiliating Spencer, right now?” Morgan asked.

“I'm simply asking questions, seeing as you're so interested in our love life!”

“Damn it, Hotch. I. Was. Teasing. In all the years you've known me, surely you've noticed that I tend to joke around with Spencer about things.”

“Yes, because clearly Spencer is roaring with laughter, right now.”

“Stop talking about me like I'm not here!” Spencer said.

With that, he did get up from the table. Hotch and Morgan could fight it out amongst themselves. He'd had enough.

He was just outside the pub, when the door opened behind him. Morgan or Hotch? He turned, to Rossi exiting, with a distinctly disgruntled expression.

“In complete fairness, I think they were _both_ acting like idiots in there,, and told them as such” Rossi said. “Admittedly, Morgan started it, but Aaron just kept it going.”

“I guess he was trying to defend me,” Spencer said.

“Let's just give them a couple of minutes. I get the feeling that this has been coming for a while.”

“I do too,” Spencer admitted.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, both Hotch and Morgan stepped out of the pub. Both looked suitably chastised.

“I'm sorry,” Morgan said, to Spencer. “I shouldn't have teased you about... about your hicky.”

“And I apologise, too, for talking for you as though you weren't there, as well as talking about aspects of our relationship that you might not have wanted bandied about a pub,” Hotch said.

“I'll say it again. You two are both utter idiots,” Rossi said.

“I completely one hundred percent agree with that assessment,” Hotch said.

“Can I talk to you? Alone?” Morgan asked.

Spencer looked to Hotch. It occurred to him that they'd already discussed this, before leaving the pub.

“Alright, let's take a walk up the street.”

Morgan waited until they were a fair way from the other two, before speaking.

“I really am sorry. It was a joke. But I can see how it may have come across as me being insensitive and rude. I honestly think it's actually pretty cute, that you have a hicky.”

“Morgan, can you not-”

“The moment that you left the table, and Rossi went after you, we realised what idiots we were being, even before Rossi told us. I apologised to Hotch, straight away.”

“Ok...” _So, is that all?_

“Look, when you walked in and I could see you and Hotch mucking about together, I remember thinking that I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hotch look so relaxed, even fun. I've noticed a change in Hotch, the last few months that you've been together. Before, I always liked him, respected him. But now, he seems like the kind of man I could hang out with more, have a fun time with. It's subtle, particularly at work, but he's just more chill than he used to be. Outside of work it's more obvious. To be honest, before, I was a bit confused as to what you saw in him. Now I get it.”

Spencer felt his anger for Morgan melt away. He saw no deception in the dark irises.

“You do realise that you have him wrapped completely around those long fingers?” Morgan said, smiling. “It's pretty obvious from the way he looks at you. He would do anything for you. Hold onto him, Spencer,” Morgan said, a slight melancholy now appearing in his eyes. “This one's a keeper.”

“I plan on it,” he whispered.

“Come on, let's go back,” Morgan said.

Coming closer to Rossi and Hotch, it was clear, from Hotch's glum expression, that Rossi had said a few words, to him, while him and Morgan were conversing.

“Now, is everything sorted?” Rossi asked.

“Sorry, Rossi. I guess we've managed to ruin your night, also,” Morgan said.

“Well, it was a bit crowded in there, anyway,” Rossi said, then caught Spencer's eye and grimaced, half shrugging.

*  
“I'm sorry about tonight,” Hotch said, again, as he buckled his seatbelt.

“You don't have to protect me, Hotch. I can handle Derek Morgan.”

“I know. You just looked so uncomfortable.”

“Well, I was fine.”

“It's just... I can usually just ignore it. But, tonight he really got to me. It felt like he was trying to make you feel ashamed of the fact that we were just intimate.”

“What? No! That's not what he was doing. He was just being Morgan. It's true, he does like teasing me. But he ultimately means no harm.”

“Because there is nothing to be ashamed about. Surely, you know that, don't you, Spencer?”

“Of course, I know that! Do you?” He shot back.

“I...” His face suddenly went pale.

“What is it?” Spencer couldn't decide whether he felt concerned, exasperated or exhausted, or all three, at once.

Then it came to him.

_Hotch has been raped in the past, remember? Do you think maybe he might sometimes feel ashamed of being intimate? Has that ever occurred, in your so-called genius brain?_

Spencer felt as though someone had just slugged him, hard, in the stomach.

Hotch, I'm so sorry,” he whispered. He'd never even considered.... all of the time that they had been intimate. Hotch had always told him, if he was feeling uncomfortable. But was this entirely true?

_I feel sick..._

“No, no, Spencer. I can already read what you're thinking, from your face. I have _never_ felt ashamed of making love to you, despite what that psychopath Foyett did to me. You're so good at making me feel at ease. Infact, I want to make love to you all the time. I see you and all I can think about is touching you, tasting you, being inside you. I _love_ making love to you. I'd say it's the best sex that I've ever had. But, that's the way _Morgan_ treated you.”

Spencer suddenly felt as though a boarded up window had been smashed open, allowing light to fill a darkened, cobwebbed room. He now finally comprehended Hotch's interactions with, and ill-feeling towards Morgan, from the very beginning of their relationship.

_Rossi's right, Hotch. You truly can be an idiot, at times._

“Hotch, you are completely different to Morgan. We love each other. I _love_ making love with you, as well. If you want to make love more often, then I would have absolutely no problem with that, whatsoever. I know this isn't just about sex, to you. _This_ is what you've been worried about?”

Hotch's pallor changed from pale to pink. He suddenly averted Spencer's eyes. Spencer could not help but feel a little surprised that Hotch, of all people, could display such insecurity.

“You know, I had a crush on you, for so long. Years, in fact. Did it occur to you that I look at you and feel the same way? The only reason why I'm not constantly hounding you for sex is out of respect. I know how particularly important it is, to not push your boundaries,” Spencer said, feeling rather exasperated.

Hotch shot him the patented dazzling mega-watt smile, that made his heart race. “You were right, when you said this isn't just about sex, for me.”

“I know.”

“I really do enjoy spending time with you. Just being together. Talking, or even just sitting quietly.”

“Yes, I figured that, seeing as we spend a lot of time together. Talking. Sitting quietly. That kind of thing. But then, that damned lust comes up again, which we have to relieve by having awesome sex. Yes, I can see what a terrible predicament we're both in.” He suddenly realised that Hotch's dry sarcasm was starting to become part of his own vernacular.

Hotch burst out laughing. “Yes, well I cannot agree enough, with Rossi, that I can be a complete idiot, at times!”

Spencer recalled what Morgan said about Hotch being wrapped around his fingers. He wasn't entirely sure if he believed it. There was one way to test it.

“Let's take tomorrow off work. Just spend the day making love as often as possible, in a variety of different places.”

“Well, I do have some leave owing. And you make a very tempting offer. Alright, let's do it.”

Spencer felt a little surprised. Hotch had not even hesitated, in choosing him over work. This seemed unprecedented and made him realise that Morgan was perhaps right. He felt like slapping himself, to wake himself from the dream; that Hotch, of all people, would feel this way about him.

“In all seriousness, knowing the real you, beyond the man that I had a crush on for so long,” Spencer said. “Makes me want to make love to you even _more_. You're somehow even _better_ than the Hotch I imagined in my head.”

“I'm sure the Hotch in your head would have been utterly flawless.”

“Boring,” Spencer said. “I love what you would consider your 'flaws'.”

“I'm certainly more messed up than you'd imagined.”

“Everyone is 'messed up'. And, it's true, you haven't had an easy life. But whatever you need, I'll do everything in my power to give it to you.”

Hotch leant forward and kissed him on the lips.

“Just keep being you. That's all I need.”

“I love you,” Spencer said, feeling a little overwhelmed by Hotch's statement.

Hotch smiled, kissed his lips, once more. “I love you, too, beautiful.”

He started the ignition, and pulled the car away from the kerb.

“Let's find some secluded area to park the car,” Spencer said. “All of this talk about sex has me now really wanting some.”

“I'm starting to think that _you're_ the one using _me_ for sex. Can't we just pull the car over and have a nice discussion about the solar system?” Hotch's tone was serious, but Spencer knew him well enough to realise that he was being flippant.

“You're right. I was planning to drag you into the back seat, pull all of our clothes off, then get on top and ride you until you're screaming like a banshee, which, by the way, are rather interesting mythological creatures, I'll have to tell you all about them, some day. Anyway, where was I?”

“I actually know a bit about banshees, too,” Hotch said. “Ok, here's the plan. Find somewhere secluded. Have amazing sex. Then talk about banshees, on the way home.”

“Now, _that_ is a plan I can get behind,” Spencer said, laughing.

Tbc...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who are reading!
> 
> Coming towards the end. Working on the last few chapters, now :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank to all who have followed so far.
> 
> Two more chapters after this one to go!
> 
> This will be the last from Spencer's pov. The next (and epilogue) will switch to Hotch's.

“Just a little more...” Morgan said, groaning, as he pulled. Spencer gritted his teeth and pushed at the arm of the chair that they were attempting to cram into the tiny back space of Morgan's car. Inch by inch, it started to move. “Almost there... almost there...”

Spencer gave one last great push, his muscles screaming with pain, and the chair finally made it's way fully into the car.

“There!” Morgan said, slamming the back door. Puffing, Spencer closed the door on his side. “That wasn't so bad, was it?”

“I just hope Garcia appreciates the effort we've put into giving her my couch.”

“I still don't know why you wanted to part with it, to begin with,” Morgan said, locking the car door.

“Because it doesn't fit anywhere in Hotch's house. Plus, it's ugly,” Spencer said. Both began to walk towards his apartment.

“Garcia doesn't seem to think so. She seems to think that it's an antique.”

“Yes, well Garcia has interesting taste, to say the least.”

Morgan laughed.

“Come on, pretty boy, lets just do a quick check of the house, before we let the cleaner in.”

As both walked up the path to his apartment, Spencer could not hep but inwardly smile. Two weeks ago, the real estate agency had found a buyer who had offered an amazing price for his apartment. Spencer had accepted, then rung up Rossi, to thank him. He had been the one to advise Spencer, when the first, rather good offer was made, to refuse, and wait for a better one. His patience had paid off. Having a buyer for the apartment did mean, however, that he had to move all of his belongings out. The dawdling pace at which he and Hotch were previously moving his belongings suddenly picked up pace. JJ and Rossi had helped, as much as they could. Just yesterday, JJ had come over, with Henry ad Will, offering their help. Spencer had declined, in fact felt happy to stop with his moving, for the day, to spend quality time with his godson.

The one person that he had been hesitant to tell, however, was Morgan. Their relationship seemed to have picked up, since the argument between him and Hotch, in the bar. Indeed, Morgan was now back to his good natured teasing and joking with Spencer. Even so, he had been a little daunted by the thought of Morgan's reaction.

Yesterday, after work, he finally plucked up the courage. Or rather, Morgan forced it out of him, coming up to Spencer, as he stood in the staff kitchen, stirring his coffee.

“Ok, pretty boy, what is it? Clearly there's something that you've been longing to tell me.”

Spencer took a deep breath and prepared himself. “I'm moving in with Hotch.”

“Is that it? That's great! Congratulations!” His smile was so genuine, that Spencer wondered why he was worried to tell him, to begin with. Morgan had then given the offer to help him move.

They reached his front door and he opened it. Spencer stepped in and looked around at the now bare room, feeling an odd sense of mourning. He looked at the bare carpet, where he had sat, by himself, for countless hours, watching Star Trek. He had enjoyed these solitary times. The coffee that he had spilt was no longer visible, thanks to his voracious scrubbing. He then went into the kitchen, opening up the cupboards, where he found a single saucepan. He recalled one time that JJ and Will visited. Will had opened a cupboard, when the mouse, that had eaten all of Spencer's new soap, that very morning, came scampering out, causing a rather shrill, startled scream, from the usually calm man.

“It's always bitter sweet, moving,” Morgan remarked, upon seeing Spencer's expression.

“Hm...” Spencer placed the saucepan on top of the bench and continued to go through the cupboards, as Morgan remarked he was going to check the bathroom. He found a mug with a photo of Picard on it and the caption 'Make it so!' (ah yes, this one he'd found for one dollar in a garage sale) and a teaspoon. He threw the teaspoon into the plastic bag, that he'd been using for rubbish.

Morgan appeared in the room. “I found a few bathroom items.”

Spencer looked at the shampoo, conditioner and old razor. “Bin them.”

After thoroughly going through the kitchen and finding nothing more, he then went to the empty bedroom, opening the wardrobe and pulling out the few clothes that were still hanging up.

“Well, the bed is gone,” Morgan said. Spencer swiftly turned. _Surely, he's not going to make some sexual come one? Surely not now?_ “It would have been nice just to have somewhere to lie down for a few minutes.”

“You could always try the floor,” Spencer suggested.

Morgan smiled and did just that; lay down on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

“You have stickers of stars and planets on your ceiling,” he said. “I can't believe I never noticed.”

“That's because you were otherwise occupied, the times you were in here,” Spencer replied.

“I respect completely that you are with Hotch now, but I'll never deny it. The sex was great.”

“I won't deny it either,” Spencer admitted, shrugging. It was a fair call.

Morgan sat up. “Yesterday, after Hotch gave the briefing, everyone else left the room, except for me and you. For a moment, Hotch gave you the most adorable, puppy-faced look. Like I said, it was very brief. But I caught it.”

“I didn't see it.”

“You were busy with picking up your satchel. It was like, for a split second, his attention was focused entirely on you, like you were the only one in the room, hell, in the entire planet. Then it went and he was just normal stern Hotch again. Like I keep telling you, pretty boy, the man's absolutely crazy for you.”

“I love him, Morgan,” Spencer said. “I really do.”

“I know,” Morgan said. “It's pretty damned obvious that you're crazy for each other. Come on, pretty boy, let's get you back to your equally handsome man.”

“So, you think Hotch is handsome then?” Spencer said, smiling.

“I can look at him and objectively see that he's handsome, sure. But he's not my type,” he shrugged.

_Well, he certainly is my type._

A sharp rap on the front door appeared to startle Hotch,but Spencer was prepared for it.

“That would be the cleaner.”

*

Hotch opened the door, looking flushed and sweaty.

“What have you been doing?” Spencer asked, moving through to the foyer. Before Hotch even replied, he had his answer. The furniture in the lounge room had been rearranged. Hotch's cabinet was now up against the right wall, where it only just fit, between the two open entrances to the kitchen and dining rooms. The television had been moved to the left of the wood stove heater, where the cabinet used to be. Spencer's own, for now empty cabinet sat in the corner, to the right of the wood-fire heater, above which Hotch had placed his Carl Sagan framed photo. The lounge chairs had also been switched around and pulled forward a little. Spencer had to admit that these subtle changes did give the illusion of more space. Bar all of Spencer's unopened boxes, that was.

As Hotch explained to Morgan, Spencer went into the kitchen and opened up the cupboard placing the saucepan inside. It felt strange to see his various pots and pans amongst Hotch's. Opening the cupboard above, he placed his mug amongst the few that were also co-mingling with Hotch's. Spencer lived frugally anyway, plus had discarded a lot of his old, unwanted items before he moved. Even so, he felt pleasant buzz in his stomach, at the sight of all of his belongings, nestled amongst Hotch's.

“Beer, Spencer?” Hotch said, appearing in the kitchen.

“Sounds good, I'm just going to hang these clothes up,” he said, moving down the hall to the bedroom, and looking around. Certainly, his belongings had slowly been adding to Hotch's for weeks, now. He walked to the wardrobe, opened it and hung up the clothes, before closing the door, then walking over to Hotch's chest-of-drawers. Nestled amongst Hotch's framed photos of Jack and Hailey, were a few of Spencer's mum. Seeing them, he felt a pang of regret.

He wandered back down the hall, to the dining, where Morgan sat, with a beer in hand, laughing. Hotch sat opposite him. Spencer stopped short. When was the last time that Hotch and Morgan laughed together? He truly couldn't recall.

“Pretty boy! Beer is waiting!” Morgan gestured to the bottle seated on the table next to him.

Spencer sat down and took a swig.

“Let me tell you about a neighbour from hell that I once had...” Morgan began.

Spencer sat quietly, allowing them to talk. It was important, for him, that these two men finally put aside their differences ( _which seem, oddly enough to involve you!)_ and get along. Every so often, Spencer would say something, but mainly the conversation flowed between Morgan and Hotch. It occurred to Spencer that Hotch had acted the exact same way, the first few times that Spencer had interacted with Jack. Spencer finished his beer and excused himself, moving the lounge room and opening one of the boxes. After a few minutes, Hotch and Morgan joined him. When he adamantly refused their offer to help him sort through the DVDs and place them in the cabinet they sat and watched, conversing some more. He was about half-way through the second box ( _good, there's my world globe_ ) when Morgan stood up and announced that he was leaving, to give Garcia her armchair. Both Hotch and Spencer followed him to the front door.

“Thank you for today,” Spencer said.

“No problem at all.”

“Feel free to drop in again,” Hotch said.

“Sounds good,” Morgan then turned to face them and gave his dazzling smile. Seeing it, Spencer felt something mend within him. He no longer felt the tingle of lust at the sight, but, rather, the hope that his and Morgan's relationship was now truly starting to heal.

They said their goodbyes and Hotch closed the door.

“I like you all hot and sweaty,” Spencer said, running his hands under Hotch's grey t-shirt, reaching under the elastic of his shorts. Hotch leant forward and kissed him.

“I have something for you,” he said.

“Not quite yet,” Spencer said. By the feel of it, Hotch was only half-erect.

“I meant,” Hotch tenderly reached in and pulled Spencer's hand out of his boxers. “I have a house warming present for you.”

Intrigued, Spencer watched him reach into his bag, hanging by the front door, and withdraw a small wrapped black box.

“Mmm...” Spencer shook it. “Wonder what it could be?”

He walked over to the lounge room and sat down on the bean bag. Hotch moved to sit behind him, so Spencer moved forward a little, allowing himself to rest up against Hotch's back, as Hotch wrapped his long legs around his. Hotch's arms went around his chest.

Feeling Hotch's lips on his neck, he unwrapped the gift and opened the rectangular box underneath. Inside sat a pair of chopsticks. Trying not to show his disappointment, but very willing to show his bewilderment, Spencer held them up, to Hotch.

“Chopsticks?”

“They're from the restaurant that we went to, for your birthday. Our first 'date'. I snuck them into my bag. To begin with, I told myself that they were a memento of the time that I spent there, with Hailey. But, the more time I spent with you, the more clear it became that they were a memento of the time I spent with _you_.”

Spencer placed them on the ground and turned around to face Hotch.

“It's becoming clear,” he said, reaching under the elastic of Hotch's shorts, once more. “That you are rather the kleptomaniac.”

“Just chopsticks and hotel room dressing gowns.”

“Mmm...” Spencer pulled his hand from out of Hotch's shorts, then lifted his arms and pulling the t-shirt over his head, before swiftly disposing of his own. After lingering stroking, kissing and removing of clothes, followed by a somewhat frustrated search to locate the lube, Hotch tenderly prepared Spencer, for more close intimacy. They started sitting up, face to face on the beanbag, followed by face to face on the floor, with Hotch on top. Spencer had then suggested they try something different. Spencer was now on his hands and knees, on the lounge room floor, crying out with every delicious thrust from behind, in time with the strokes from Hotch's hand. This had been Morgan's favourite position, mainly for the fact that he could see his erection working in and out of Spencer. Morgan had used the position as a way to distance himself from Spencer. Spencer had not the least amount of fear of this happening,with Hotch, particularly as Hotch was bent over his back, kissing his neck, his ear, the side of his face. He lightly tilted Spencer's head to the side, so he could kiss him on the mouth, then started to whisper endearments in his ear. Hotch was never crude. In fact, Spencer did not recall him ever say the word “cock”, or “fuck”. No, his words were always more complimentary about Spencer, telling him that he was beautiful and lovely and that Hotch wanted him so much. Spencer felt the same way about Hotch, only always felt too utterly undone, when they made love, to utter any sentence that made sense.

He could hear Hotch groaning and knew that he was close. Spencer moaned louder.

“That's it, beautiful,” Hotch said. “That's it, that's it.”

Hotch hit his prostate again and again, causing sparks of pleasure to spiral out all over his body. He heard Hotch cry out his name, felt the usual warmth fill him, as he reached his own peak, succumbing to the overwhelming ecstasy.

For a moment, both just remained there, panting, before Hotch slowly removed himself. Spencer turned around and kissed his lover, first on the neck, then the face. Feeling giddy, he reached forward with his fingers and started to tickle his ribs, reaching under his arm pits. Hotch half-screamed, half-laughed, collapsing onto his back.

“Surrender!” Spencer laughed. Hotch shook his head, still laughing.

“Let's see if your other side is as ticklish!”

Spencer grabbed him about the waist, attempting to roll him over, onto his stomach.

“Spencer no! No, stop!” Panic glazed Hotch's eyes and he roughly pushed Spencer off him.

 “What's wrong?” It suddenly occurred to Spencer that they had never made love with him lying face down on the floor. Nor, for that matter, had Hotch allowed Spencer to touch him,when he was lying face down. As soon as he started to stroke Hotch's flesh, he would instantly turn.

Hotch slowly moved to a sitting position, his eyes strangely vacant.

“Foyett,” Spencer said. “You were face down on the ground, when he raped you, weren't you? Hey,” he crawled over and placed his hands around Hotch's neck. “I love you, beautiful man.”

The light returned to Hotch's eyes, to be replaced by such anguish, that Spencer felt almost pained enough to turn away, himself. But he decided not to, for Hotch's sake, he would take on his pain. He felt strong enough to do it.

“After he said that he was going to change the way I profile, he rolled me onto my front, pulled down my pants...Even though he told me what he was going to do, I still couldn't believe it, that it could happen to me. I begged him to use a condom but a part of me was sure that he wouldn't go through with it. The whole thing just seemed like some kind of nightmare that I wasn't able to wake up from.” He unhooked Spencer's arms from around his neck and leant forward, so his head was against Spencer's chest. Spencer placed his arms around his back, feeling him tremble. “While he was... inside me... he kept saying 'Does this feel like a substitute, to you?'. It hurt, even more than when he was stabbing me. Even so, somehow he was able to manipulate me, make me erect, force me to orgasm. He just laughed, told me that I was sick, because I'd orgasmed from him raping me. After it was over, he chided me for 'enjoying it' and that he'd like to go again, some time. The last thing I heard, before passing out completely was him saying that he was going after Hailey and Jack.”

Hotch started to sob, the tears drenching Spencer's bare chest. He sounded frightened, vulnerable, an injured animal, trapped in a hunter's trap. Spencer held to him tightly, feeling his own tears start to blur his vision.

Gradually, the sobs lessened, the tears ceased.

“I felt so ashamed, for so many years. Felt like I'd failed Hailey and Jack. Felt like I'd failed myself. It wasn't meant to happen. Not to me. I was meant to be the strong one, the protector, the one who saved others.”

“You are! Just because that psychopath decided to hurt you in that terrible way, doesn't meant that you're not strong, or that you don't save others. You do it every day! You're the most focused of the entire team. We'd fall apart without you. Look, you should know, from the job, that being raped can happen to _anyone_. Being a man isn't protection against it. Being physically strong isn't protection against it. You, of all people, know that once a predator like Foyett targets someone, _no_ _matter who they are,_ the predator will not stop, until they have complete control and domination over the person.”

Hotch pulled back and looked at him, the combination of strength and vulnerability so prevalent in his dark irises.

“I think, the fact that you've kept going to work, dealing with the same kind of people as Foyett, trying your damned hardest to make sure these kind of men are found and put away, before they can hurt any more people, attests to your utter badassery. That is an official Spencer Reid psychological evaluation. My dear lord that is science, I fucking love you!” Spencer said, utterly meaning it.

Spencer always thought that people had a choice. Yes, there were ones that had terrible childhoods; abuse, neglect, and Spencer had great sympathy, even for the worst offenders, if their youth was destroyed in such a way. But they had the choice, when they got older, to use that suffering to help others, or to destroy others.

Hotch had, indeed, suffered, first with physical abuse, in childhood, then rape, years later. And yet, he consistently used his own suffering as a catalyst to propel himself to be even better at his job, to catch the kind of people who would make others suffer, and as a catalyst to be a better father, for Jack. Spencer suddenly realised that, even before they were a couple, he had always found Hotch to be somewhat of an inspiration, as well as hell sexy.

“You've done it again,” Hotch said. That smile again, the one that made Spencer think that all would be right, with the world, and that he wanted to make love again, as soon as possible. “You have an unfailing ability to make me realise that any self-doubt I feel is completely unnecessary.”

“Well, it's true. You,” he leant forward and kissed Hotch on the lips. “'are-” another kiss “a-” third kiss “-bad ass!”

Hotch shook his head. “I like to arrogantly think that _I'm_ taking the one taking care of _you_ , but the reality is the other way around isn't it?”

“I don't need anyone to take care of me. I'm fine.”

“Yes, I think I realise that,” Hotch said, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair.

“Thank you for asking me to move in. If you had asked me a year ago, that I'd be living with Aaron Fucking Hotchner, I wouldn't have believed it!”

“You know you sound so cute when you swear?”Hotch said, running a hand down his sweaty bare flank. “Genius IQ....” He reached his hand down further. “Where would you like to make love next?” The hand started stroking. Spencer started to respond, in a rather positive way.

“I wouldn’t think that you'd be ready so soon...” Spencer said, his hands doing their own exploring.

“I'm sure I can... rise to attention....”

“I'm sure I can give you help with that,” Spencer said, moving backwards and lowering his head to Hotch's sudden half-erection.

*

She sat by the window, one of her books of poetry in hand. For a moment, Spencer simply stood, watching her, feeling the usual waves of pure love and guilt washing over him. He then rushed over.

“Mum!”

She put down the book and turned her head. “Spencer.”

He embraced her, relishing in her warmth, her slightly floral scent.

“I've missed you. It's been so long.”

“I'm sorry, mum,” he said, releasing her. At least she was having a good day. She turned to Hotch, who was standing, looking rather awkward, a little back from Spencer.

“You're Spencer's colleague,” she said, rather matter-of-factly. Hotch moved forward.

“Hotch. Aaron Hotchner,” Spencer said.

“Nice to see you,” he said, reaching out his hand. Spencer watched her shake his hand, her intelligent eyes working.

“How long have you been seeing my son?” She asked.

“Mum, we've moved in together,” Spencer said.

She now focused all of her attention completely on Hotch. “Do you love him?”

“Very much so, yes,” he said, keeping eye contact with her.

“Because I love my son. If anyone hurt him, I would personally come after them.”

“I understand,” Hotch said.

“Spencer, can you leave us alone a few minutes?”

“Mum...”

“It's alright, Spencer,” Hotch said.

Frowning, Spencer moved away from them. He stood at the opposite end of the room,watching. His mother had risen, so she was face to face with Hotch. From the expressions on their faces, their didn't appear to be any ill intent between them. Hotch then turned his head and looked at Spencer, a slight smile on his face, before turning back to his mum. She then reached out and placed a hand on his arm, then turned her head and beckoned Spencer back. Folding his arms, he returned to his mother.

“Do you mind now giving Spencer and me a few minutes?” She asked Hotch.

“Certainly.” Hotch said, then moved away.

“Mum, you had no right to do that! I am more than capable of deciding, for myself, who I should be with!”

“I'm your mother, Spencer. If I think a partner, be they male or female, is not right for you, then I'll let them know, in no uncertain terms!”

“What are you saying?” He said, feeling his temper rise. “What did you say to Hotch?”

“Oh no, Hotch has my complete approval. It's obvious, talking to him, that he is in love with you and is sincere in wanting what's best for you.”

“I didn't come here, for you to give your approval. I merely came here, to tell you that I've moved in with the man I love!”

“But I get the impression that it was important for _Hotch_ to have my approval, as _your_  dearly loved mother. You've done well there, Spencer. Dark, handsome, polite, smart.”

“I know!”

She smiled. “I'm happy for you, Spencer. I truly am. I can see that you're both very happy together.”

“We are,” he felt his temper subside. “I love him, mum. And he loves me. We're making it work.”

“That's all I want. Is for my Spencer to be happy. Just tell me you'll see me more often.”

“Of course.”

*

“Spencer!” JJ cornered him, the next day, as he was sipping his first,very much needed taste of coffee. “So, you finished moving yet?”

“Still unpacking, but getting there.”

“Will and I are having a dinner party this Friday. Wondered if you and Hotch wanted to come?”

“I'm quite certain he's free. I'll ask him. I'll be free, so even if I just come...”

“Sure! Either way, sounds good-”

“Well, well, pretty boy,” Morgan's hand whacked him on the shoulder. “So, I delivered Garcia her couch and we sat down, only to find this in the cushions!”

He pulled out a long, wooden toy.

“What is this?”

Spencer burst out laughing. “It's a fake wand! As in from Harry Potter. I have no idea how it got there!”

“So I almost had a wand stuck up my ass,” Morgan said, smiling.

Spencer moved the spoon he'd been using for the coffee from Morgan's view, distracting him.

“Here, give me the wand.” Morgan did as he asked. “Could have been worse. Hold out your hand. Could have had this,” he tapped Morgan's hand. “Magicked up your ass, instead.” It was a simple switch. The spoon appeared in Morgan's hand. Morgan laughed.

“I don’t know what would be worse! No, I think the wand would be worse.”

“Everyone, conference room,” Hotch said.

Spencer followed in and sat next to Morgan.

“We have been called to Florida, to investigate the People's Temple of the Orchid.”

Spencer was instantly aware of two things. Firstly, he knew about the People’s temple, a religious sect that had been in some controversy, in recent times. The leader, a very charismatic man (as, Spencer thought dryly, cult leaders always are) was accused of a string of offences, including child sexual abuse. The profilers were being called in, to provide risk assessment, for the other FBI agents. Spencer knew the reason. The disaster that was WACO.

The second was more obvious, how damned proud he was of the man standing before them. Hotch, who was always able to sublimate his own anguish, for the greater good. No, more than that, to use it, to his advantage; to be a better profiler, to be a better father. To be a better partner.

“I never understand how people get sucked into these cults,” Garcia said, once Hotch had finished with the presentation. “Wouldn't it be pretty obvious, from the beginning that their cult leader does not exactly have their best interests in mind? I can only think that they must not be very smart.”

“Actually, statistically a lot of people who join cults have above average IQs. Theoretically, the smarter a person is, the harder it is to change their minds on something that they have a vested interest in. A smart person will easily come up with facts to prove their perspective,” Spencer said.

“So, what cults have you joined lately?” Morgan asked.

“Oh I would never join a cult. I could see myself leading one, though,” Spencer said.

Morgan laughed. “You know, that could almost scarily be true. I'd join. I think the 'Spencer Reid Cult' would be fun. Apart from the repeat viewings of Star Trek.”

“For you, I'd only make us watch the original series, fifteen times in a row.”

“See, the man has priorities!” Morgan said, smiling.

“Ok, everyone, jets up in fifteen,” Hotch said, a slight smile uplifting his lips.

Spencer waited until everyone else had left the room, before closing the door, turning to Hotch and grabbing him by the tie. Both began hungrily clashing tongues.

“You know, I'd join the Spencer Reid Cult. Damn, I think I already have,” Hotch said, once they released, panting.

Spencer laughed, kissed him chastely on the lips, once more.

“Come on, beautiful,” Hotch said. “Time to catch us a few baddies.”

As both stepped out of the room, Spencer felt ready to take on any criminal thrown in his direction.

Tbc...


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who are reading :)  
> This is now switched to Hotch's pov. Two more chapters to go. Next one will be Morgan's pov, followed by an Epilogue.

One of Hotch's last cases, as a lawyer, involved the beating murder of a three year old boy. Even in those years before his career as a criminal profiler, Hotch was usually able to keep professionally detached, even from the most brutal of crimes. However, this particular case started to infest his mind. He found sleep difficult to achieve; his brain desecrated by images of the boy's bruised and bloodied, misshapen tiny body. The impact the case had on his well-being even affected his customary impartiality, when it came to guilt and innocence. With this one, he had no doubt. The stepfather was, indeed, guilty.

He took it as a particularly harsh blow, when the jury found the man not guilty.

“You did well. Unfortunately, the police didn't do their jobs,” the sympathetic judge told him, after watching the smug stepfather practically skip down the steps of the courthouse.

This all occurred before him and Hailey had even considered having children. Watching Jack now finish piling his belongings into his school bag, in preparation for his school camp, he thought, not for the first time, that he simply couldn't understand how anyone could harm a child. Even though he saw such brutality often as a profiler, and knew the textbook psychological reasons for it, he still couldn't say that he entirely understood.

Leroy James Robinson.

According to his mother, he loved balloons, the park and his teddy.

It was from that case, that he started to seriously consider changing careers. The boys' death was the catalyst, from a series of cases, detailing the horrors of humankind's brutality to each other, gaining momentum.

He couldn't save little Leroy. But he could do his best to try save other children, and adults, from a similar brutal demise. As well as do his best to bring up Jack in a nurtured, loving environment, in the hopes that he would then repay, in kind, to his own children.

“Ok, I think that's everything... what is it?” Jack said, catching the look on Hotch's face.

Hotch stood up, from where he'd been sitting on the bed, and hugged him, tightly. “You know I love you, right? So very much.”

“Dad, it's only going to be a week. I'll be fine,” he said, a crooked smile twisting his impish features, as they released.

“I know, I just wanted to tell you, that's all.”

Both then walked down the hall, into the lounge room, where Spencer reclined on the sofa, reading a book. Upon seeing Jack, he placed the book down, a smile gracing his fey features. Hotch stood back, a little, to watch. He had once told Spencer that he found him so exquisitely beautiful, it was like watching a master painter's work of art. Often, when making love, he would obsess over little places of perfection on the long, lean body; the beautifully shaped fingers, the shell-like ear. However, to Hotch, he found his true perfection, in his eyes. There could never be a hint of deception in the lovely dark orbs. Everything that Spencer was feeling, every thought from the always racing brain, poured out, so sincerely and effortlessly, from the brown irises. Upon first meeting Spencer, Hotch had noticed his beauty, at that point from merely an aesthetic perspective. He had also noticed that his eyes always spoke to his true emotions, even if his words said the opposite.

Now, as Spencer smiled, his eyes showed so distinctly his fondness for Jack.

“So, does Big Foot exist?” Jack asked. “Cos Terry, from school yesterday told me that it was all fake.”

For the past few days, upon realising that he was going to be camping near 'Big Foot' country, Jack had talked about little else. Hotch decided that, even though he'd never met him, he didn't like the sound of this 'Terry From School'.

“Actually, there has been some evidence, collected, other than the blurred photographs that are usually associated with Big Foot, to prove that the creature may exist,” Spence began. “Obviously, no corpse has been found, yet. That would be definitive. But casts of feet too large in size to be of any animal native to the area have been made, as well as recordings of what are supposed to be the animal's howls, and, of course there is the famous Patterson-Gimlin footage, which has never been officially debunked. Native American folklore, across many tribes, include the description of a large, human-like hairy figure, that is said to stalk anyone who ventures close to its lair. Now, if we go back to the famous 'Patterson-Gimlin footage...”

As Spencer continued, Hotch was reminded, for the dozenth time, perhaps even that day, why he was so utterly in love with the man pattering on, before him. He could see, from Spencer's eyes, that he didn't truly believe that Big Foot actually existed. However, as he had a deep interest in myths and how they attributed to human society and behaviour, he could very passionately talk about the controversial subject. Jack's initial look of concern was now replaced by one of wide-eyed astonishment. Hotch suspected that this was also Spencer's intention; to give a young boy a sense of wonderment about the world, before adulthood crushed it from him.

“I'm gonna get a picture of one!”

Spencer's smile was genuine. “You do that.”

The ringing of the doorbell broke Hotch from his thoughts. He walked over and opened it, to allow Jessica inside.

'You sure you've got everything?” Hotch asked Jack, as Jessica said hello to Spencer.

“Yes, dad,” Jack rolled his eyes then did something he'd never done before. He leant forward and embraced Spencer. Spencer hugged back, appearing startled.

“Goodbye, Spencer,” Jack said.

“Hey, where's dad's hug?” Hotch asked.

Jack came over and hugged him, also. Hotch relished the embrace of his son. This would be the last time that he would see, hear or hug him for a week. He pulled away, feeling his stomach clench.

“Thank you so much for taking him, tonight,” he turned to Jessica. “And dropping him off, tomorrow.”

“No problem,” Jessica smiled. “Everything alright with you?”

“Everything is great,” Hotch said.

“I'm glad. I truly am,” for a moment, her eyes flicked to Spencer, as she smiled.

“Alright, Jack. You take care,” he said, as Jack and Jessica walked out of the door. “And have a good time.”

He stood in the doorway and watched them get into the car, feeling Spencer move up behind him. Hotch felt the usual pang of concern and worry, as the car pulled out of the driveway.

“He'll be fine. He'll have a good time,” Spencer said.

Hotch watched the car go up the street, until it was out of sight, before closing the door, and turning to face Spencer.

“I have an idea,” Spencer said.

“Hmm...?” Hotch started to run his hands through Spencer's silky hair. Unable to resist, he leant forward and nuzzled his neck, delighting in the soft flesh, the delicate lump of his adam's apple underneath, his hands pulling his shirt out from his trousers. They stumbled back, discarding clothes as they went, until they finally fell, naked onto the sofa. No matter how many times they did this, Hotch would always find himself mesmerised by the naked body before him. It was baffling to him, that Spencer would cover up such loveliness with constant baggy or ill-fitting clothes. Certainly, Hotch would never actually tell him this. As far as he was concerned, Spencer could wear whatever he wanted, do whatever he wanted. It was simply puzzling that Spencer didn't see what was obvious, to him.

“Spencer,” he gasped, sitting up to admire the trembling form beneath him. He could say the words, over and over again, “You’re beautiful, you're lovely, you're perfection” but Spencer never quite believed it, years of ingrained bullying and self-awkwardness too instilled.

No, he couldn't tell Spencer, but he could show him. He then paid homage to the man beneath him, kissing, licking and stroking down his body, even paying attention to the areas that most people did not even consider in terms of beauty; Spencer's elbow, his little toe, the back of his knees. Spencer, likewise, ran his hands over Hotch's body, kissing the very scars that he had always been too shamed to reveal, before Spencer, that was. With much joyful laughter and playful teasing, both jostled for position, to touch, with mouths, and hands, every aspect of the other's body. Finally, their torsos joined, their mouths coming together. Hotch found that he could kiss Spencer for hours, relishing the soft, full lips. Spencer moaned, and Hotch pulled back, stroking him, paying close attention to the gasping mouth, the heaving chest. Crying out, Spencer bucked in Hotch's grasp, spilling onto his stomach. At the sight of his lover being utterly overcome, he allowed himself to let go, leaning forward, to those lips, once more, as the dull roar of his own climax thrummed through his entire body. He felt himself likewise release onto the flesh of Spencer's abdomen.

“Anyway, you were saying?” he asked wiping Spencer's sweat-soaked hair from his head.

“I thought we could go to the beach.”

“I thought you didn't like the beach,” Hotch said. “Listen, Spencer...”

He trailed off, trying to adequately convey the thoughts that were now pounding his brain.

On the day, previously, that he had invited Spencer to the beach, he had known the reason why his lover didn’t want to go, even if Spencer didn't want to admit it.

As with that day, where, he readily admitted that he had failed miserably, Hotch wasn't even sure how to begin, to put words to his thoughts. He wanted to say that he was aware that childhood trauma did have a negative effect on one's life, even if it was for something as simple as going to the beach. Spencer had been bullied, yes, but he had grown up to be a beautiful, strong, capable, amazing man. Even so, he was aware that the bullying from Spencer's childhood had caused a wound, perhaps too deep to ever heal properly.

His lovely eyes were, again, too easily read. Spencer was fearful that Hotch was going to say something that would hurt him.

No, the wound would heal. Hotch decided that he would grab the string, and thread itself, to force its closure. Perhaps, also, Spencer's suggestion was his own way of starting the suture.

“.... we'd better get more rugged up. It's going to get pretty cold, out there.”

“Alright, if you like we can take my car,” Spencer smiled.

*

Though the cool air determined to seep through any hole in their warm clothing defences, the swell of the water was surprisingly calm, the waves lazily lapping at the shoreline, as though sleepily welcoming the fade of daylight. No one else occupied this little stretch of beach, that they sat on, arms around each other's waists, Spencer's head on his shoulder. Spencer always seemed to radiate warmth, like some exothermic beacon. At night, when Hotch held him, feeling satiated from their lovemaking, if the temperature was too hot, he'd have to pull away, a little, such was the heat that Spencer gave out.

“What if there was an earthquake, shifting the tectonic plates, of the ocean floor, right now, which, in turn, caused a shift of water, rushing back, then moving forward, right towards us, taking all in its path, including us? What if we had no chance to get away, in time?” Spencer asked.

“Then we'd be dead,” Hotch said.

“But that's just it, isn't it? What would we think about, what would we do?”

Hotch considered this. “When Foyett was stabbing me, I thought that there was a fair chance that I would die. I remember just thinking about Jack. I didn't want Jack to grow up without a father. The idea was too much to bear.”

“With Hankel, I remember just thinking I want to live. I didn't think about dying. All I could think was about living. So, yes, maybe that's what I’d do, if a tsunami came for us, right now. I would just think about doing everything I could, to live.”

“Sometimes, I think about my father,” Hotch admitted. “What did he think about, in the very end? Did he feel any remorse, for what he'd done in life?” _For what he did to me? I was just a little boy, dad. I look at my own son, and all I can think is I was just a little boy._

Spencer's grip tightened around his waist.

“One of my earliest, fondest memories of my own father, was on a beach. I just remember being up in some sand dunes, digging with a bucket and spade. I found out, years later, that dad had lost me and was frantic. He found me and lifted me and just hugged and kissed me. I remember just feeling loved.... wanted...”

“He _did_ love you. You know this... Mine did too, in his own way...”

“I...” Spencer lifted his head and turned, to face him directly. There was an odd awkwardness in his eyes, now.”You're such an inspiration to me, always have been, really. That you survived such a brutal upbringing, but didn't allow it to make you bitter but instead turned you into a great agent and father.”

“There are a lot of people like me, Spencer. In fact, I'd say the ones that overcame their terrible childhoods to not harm others, far outweighs the ones that didn't. It's just that we only deal in the ones that didn't. Our perspective is skewed.”

“Yes, but even so, that doesn't take away from what you did, to free yourself of your father's brutality.”

“I made a vow to myself, even before Jack was born, that I wouldn't repeat the cycle of what my father did, and his father before him. Then, when I held him in my arms, for the first time, this amazing baby, completely dependant on me... all I wanted to do was protect him, love him, be there for him.”

“Jack's a great kid. I'd say you're doing alright,” Spencer said, smiling. Hotch leant forward and kissed him, before both sat, in comfortable silence, a few seconds.

“Sometimes I do wonder, though. What made me different from, say Foyett, who also had a traumatic upbringing? That is the question, isn't it? As profilers, we can come up with all kinds of theories, but we don’t truly know.”

“You're right. I have so much knowledge, gleaned from books, from essays, from lectures, on the nature of human evil. Most of it contradicts each other. In the end, maybe it's _all_ true, in a way.”

Both lapsed into silence, once more. Hotch allowed his mind to close down, to simply focus on the present; the smell of the sea air, the sound of the waves, washing on the beach, the soft texture of Spencer's thick woollen jumper under his arm and hands.

“You getting hungry?” He asked. “How about we get some dinner?”

*

“.... the government deciding, for itself, what is in the public interest. If you take the case of Edward Snowden...” Spencer's hands waved about,as he talked. He'd clearly forgotten the half drunk glass of champagne before him.

Hotch couldn’t help but inwardly grin, feeling energised, elated. Even before his lawyer years, he had always appreciated a good debate. He had simply honed his skills, when he started working. What soon became clear, was that not many people were good at debating. They fell into too many pitfalls; the adhominen attack, the over-generalisations, the straying off topic. Spencer, on the other hand, was as masterful as Hotch. Rather than fall into the usual pitfalls of other people, he simply stayed on topic, using evidence from his vast knowledge, to build a very sturdy argument. For the moment, he was arguing that the government used scare tactics, to manipulate the American people, to it's own agenda. Hotch actually agreed, to some extent, but was deliberately playing 'devil's advocate' to keep the debate going.

He also had to admit, that seeing Spencer so cunningly display his vast intellect, was starting to have an effect, not only on his mind, but on other parts of his body.

Spencer suddenly stopped talking, the patented 'I’ve just realised what's going on and it's irritating me' frown appearing on his face. It made Hotch want him even more.

“You don't really believe in what you're arguing, do you? You just want a debate.”

“Finished your champagne?”

“I guess, why?”

Hotch leant in closer, to whisper. “Because I want to leave this restaurant, get into the car, find somewhere secluded....lie you down in the back seat,” he could see Spencer's eyes darken, his breath quicken, “Take off all of our clothes, wrap those gorgeous long legs around my neck. I want to look into those beautiful dark eyes, while I take the time to make sure you're nice and ready for me, then I’m going to slide into you..” Damn he could feel his own erection start to poke up under the table.

“I want you to do it. Fast. Hard. I want you so much...”

“Bill, right now! Waiter!” Hotch signaled, as Spencer laughed.

*  
“Oh! Oh oh oh oh..” Spencer cried out with every fast hard thrust. Hotch wanted to tell himself that this was making love and, in a way, it was. Every intimate moment with Spencer was about love. But, the smut of it, the pure driven sexual wantonness of two men simply fulfilling their sexual needs, took it to another, raunchier level.

Hotch groaned, one hand stroking, in time to his thrusts, the other gripping Spencer's hip, mind totally consumed by the sweat soaked flesh that he was sliding across, the taste of sweat and soft flesh on his tongue against Spencer's neck and the feeling of delicious heat and tightness, surrounding his most sensitive of organs. He could feel Spencer's hands squeezing at his buttocks, urging him to move faster. He shifted slightly and angled to press more forcefully against Spencer’s prostate with each hard thrust.

“Ohohohohoh...”

_Yes, beautiful. Do it, that's it. Come for me. I love you so much..._

As though he could hear him, Spencer cried out his name, clenching around Hotch's erection, as wetness hit his stomach causing him to thrust forward as deep as he could go, as he felt himself climaxing so hard it was almost painful. He screamed, feeling himself release deep inside his lover then collapsed on top of him, nuzzling his neck, as he came down off his high. Spencer unhooked his legs from around Hotch's neck and dropped them, his hands now running up and down his back.

Hotch lifted himself slightly to look down at the much loved angelic face. Spencer stared back, looking serene, relaxed, satisfied. Hotch thought about how much he wanted to turn the tables, to be able to have Spencer take him, as he had just taken him, to feel his width and girth inside him. He knew he was almost there. Spencer would be gentle, he knew it. He would make sure that Hotch felt , no not comfortable, more than comfortable, excited, lustful. Hotch leant forward and indulged in a long kiss of the sweet, always chatting mouth.

Both silently dressed, before going back into the front seats and buckling themselves in.

“I propose an idea,” Spencer said. “Whenever we drive my car, he have to find somewhere to have great sex. We can do it in yours every so often as well. But I always want it to happen in mine. Sex car.”

Hotch laughed. “Whatever you want.”

Spencer grinned and started the ignition.

Although, Hotch admitted to himself that Spencer could ask for a pegasus, and he'd start asking genetic scientists about how to to make it happen.

*  
Hotch sat up on the bed, laptop on his lap. Spencer came out of the bathroom, looking adorable in his pyjama bottoms and the Star Wars t-shirt.

“Looking up porn, are we?”

“Busted!” Hotch placed the laptop beside him and grabbed Spencer by the arm, pulling him onto the bed to indulge in a long, lingering kiss.

“So what do we have here?” He asked, turning around, so his head was resting on Hotch's chest, as he grabbed the laptop, placed it in his lap, and opened it, to the page that Hotch was on.

“Working out what case we'll take tomorrow. All the fun of the job.”

“What's this case, in New Orleans?”

“Serial killer. Targets Afro-American men. Four dead, so far and one seriously injured. Signature is stabbing. The first one was stabbed but survived, barely. The second stabbed, again in non-lethal areas but extanguinated out. The next three were stabbed, then raped.”

Spencer was silent but Hotch knew that he would be aware of the connection to Foyett.

“He's evolving,” Spencer said.

“Victimology involves successful men, who are looked up to, in society. The first was a successful business man, the second, a cardio-vascular surgeon, followed by another business man, a decorated police officer then a decorated fire-fighter.”

“I think we should take it.”

Hotch had been putting it off for two days, partially because of the link of signature to his own stabbing and rape, but also out of concern for how Morgan would handle the case. Morgan had, after all, been the victim of a man who had sexually abused him, to then move on to murder, years later.

But then, if they didn't help, the killer would not stop.

“The police chief said to call him at any time. He seems to think that it's some kind of hate crime.”

Of course, both him and Spencer already knew that this was not the case.

“Do it,” Spencer said. “Call him.”

He placed the laptop down and crawled off Hotch, as he reached for his mobile and made the call. The police chief, a gravelled voice, serious sounding man, said that he would be more than happy for the profilers to come down to New Orleans, in the morning, to lend their expertise.

“Done,” Hotch placed his mobile back on charge and climbed back into bed, spooning up behind Spencer.

“I don't know why I'm so tired...” Spencer murmured.

“It's been a long day...”

“Mmm...”

Hotch kissed the back of his neck, then closed his eyes, content to just lie, perfect, in the moment.

*

Hotch and Morgan entered the third victim's apartment,carefully looking around the front room. Police and forensics had finished combing the crime scene. Even so, there was a lot that the profilers could potentially found out, even without the forensic evidence present.

“From what his friends and family say, Steve Jackhill was a pretty strong guy. Liked to go to the gym. He would have fought,” Morgan said, inspecting the upright furniture, the neat, clean room.

“And yet, there is no sign of a struggle,” Hotch said, frowning.

Usually, he would have sent Rossi with Morgan, to look at the crime scene, only Rossi was off sick with the flu, so he went. Or so he told himself. The truth was, he wanted to keep an eye on Morgan, to make sure that this particular case was not getting to him. So far, he had nothing to be concerned about. Morgan was his usual professional, yet cheerful self.

“The killer was already in the house,” Morgan said, then walked up behind him. “He came up behind the victim, placed the knife to his throat,” he hooked his arm around Hotch's neck, placing a finger to his throat. “Victim can't fight.”

“Or,” Hotch said, as Morgan released him. He walked forward and pointed at the wall. “Forensics reports a bullet lodged into the wall. It's not in keeping with what the police know about the rest of the murders, so the detectives don't consider it in any way significant. I suggest he used a gun, to control the victim. The gun for the MO, the knife for the signature.”

“There was no proof of a gun being fired at the other crime scenes, because the perp had perfected his MO,” Morgan said. “He fired the weapon, into the wall, to show that he was in charge, then forced the victim, at gunpoint, into the bedroom.”

Both Hotch and Morgan walked into the bedroom. The mattress was still bloodied.

“According to the autopsy results, he was stabbed first, then raped, as he bled out,” Morgan said.

Hotch closed his eyes, unable to cease a sudden shudder, that worked its way through his body. “I'm going to change the way you profile,” Foyett had said. Well, he had certainly been right about that. Deliberately calming himself, the way that his psychologist told him to, he deliberately slowed down his breaths, concentrating on the rise and fall of his chest, before counting down ten breaths. Finally feeling in control, looked to Morgan.

“Everything alright?” Morgan was regarding him with a rather worried look.

“Fine, why?”

“You've suddenly gone white! What's wrong?”

“Nothing, I'm fine.”

Morgan wasn't fooled. He continued to stare at him, a sudden revelation coming into the dark eyes.

He's just realised the truth about Foyett! Hotch thought. But then the moment passed.

“So, he points the gun at the back of his head, and forces him, face up, on the bed,” Morgan continued.

It's fine, fine, Hotch told himself. Morgan doesn't know.

*

“Tell us more, Garcia,” Hotch spoke into his speaker phone, as JJ slammed on the brakes, missing a man crossing a pedestrian strip by a few inches. The man gave her a dirty look.

Garcia, as always, came through. She had been the one to figure out that something was not quite right about the first victim. She had gone through his records and realised that his 'successful' business was actually being audited for a string of offences, including money laundering and fraud.

“I managed to get through to one of the nurses, who tended to him at the hospital. She says she was convinced that the wounds were self-inflicted. The doctors, however, disagreed with her.”

Foyett, all over again.

“Thank you, Garcia. You've been marvellous,” Hotch said, then hung up the mobile.

“The first 'victim' is actual the killer,” JJ said, screeching the vehicle around corner.

“-And Morgan and Reid are going to his house, right now,” Hotch said, inwardly kicking himself. He had been the one to order them to the victim's house, thinking that he actually might be the one in danger.

“It’s alright, we'll get there...” JJ slammed her foot down harder on the accelerator.

*

Morgan and Spencer's SUV was seated out the front of the house. Neither were answering their mobiles. JJ told Hotch that she was going try what looked to be a side entrance, into the house. Hotch managed to open the gate, leading to the gnarled, overgrown back yard, then tried the back door. It was locked, so he shot it open, moving into the house, with his weapon low, but ready to be raised, at the sign of any danger. He moved through the laundry room, following the voices that seemed to be issuing from the lounge room.

“....FBI's in the habit of employing little boys. Come on, shoot me, little boy. Know how to use that gun?”

His weapon now fully raised, Hotch raced through the hall, to the lounge room, with JJ following behind.

As he entered the lounge room, the sight before him made him momentarily freeze. The perp had his back to him, clearly holding Morgan tight against him. Spencer stood in front, with his weapon raised. Hotch could tell that he couldn't take the shot, due to fear of hitting Morgan. Spencer hadn't noticed that Hotch had entered the room, as he was entirely focused on the perp.

“How about you put the knife down?” Morgan said. “We'll talk.”

Now Hotch understood what was happening. The perp had his knife to Morgan's throat.

“Fuck you, pretty man!” The perp said to Morgan. “I'm gonna slit your throat and the little boy before you, there, can watch!”

“FBI! Put the knife down!”

At the sound of his voice, Spencer looked at him, with an expression of surprise... and something else... If Hotch wasn't mistaken, it looked to be a mixture of pride, bordering on hero-worship.

The perp swung around, verifying to Hotch that he did, indeed, have a butcher's knife to Morgan's throat.

“Come on, FBI man. Think you can shoot me? I'll have your pretty boy macho man agent here bleeding out on the ground, before you can even think!”

Hotch didn't hesitate any longer. The perp was clearly following an end game, and was determined to take Morgan with him. Although Morgan was being held close to the perp, his head was clear. Hotch aimed his weapon and fired. A red dot appeared on the perps forehead, the back of his skull blew apart and he collapsed, instantly dead, the knife cluttering to the ground.

“Whew, that was close!” Morgan said. Hotch could see a thin line of red, on his throat, where the man had held the knife.

“You ok?” He asked Morgan.

Morgan nodded. “I think so. Thank you, Hotch. Thank you for saving my life.”

*  
“I'll just be a few minutes,” he said, to Spencer. “Ok, beautiful?”

Spencer nodded, seeming to know that he was being excused, then left the conference room. Hotch pretended to mess about with his case, when, as he predicted, Morgan entered the room, closing the door behind him.

“Thank you again, for today.”

“You don't need to thank me. I did what had to be done.”

Morgan affixed him directly in the eyes, with his penetrating stare. “There's something I need to tell you.”

Hotch stood still, giving him his absolute attention.

“About a year ago, I started getting flashbacks to what happened when I was younger. With Carl Buford. It happens periodically in my life. I'll be doing alright, then the flashbacks will start happening again, the fear. I started seeing this woman. Now, I don't know why I didn't go before. I guess I thought that seeing a therapist was chickening out, somehow. Anyway, she has been fantastic.” Morgan then paused. “Foyett didn't just stab you, did he? He raped you.”

There it was. In absolutes.

“I think I knew. Today just confirmed it. The case, it was so close to what happened with Foyett. I remembered, at the time, you were clearly mourning the loss of Hailey, and the absolute tragedy of everything that had happened. But something else was going on with you. At the hospital, in particular, after he attacked you.... It was Prentiss who said that she was convinced something else had happened.”

Hotch was silent. What, really, was there to say?

“I'm so sorry, Hotch. I'm so sorry it happened to you. Does anyone else know? Spencer? Rossi?”

“They both know. Infact, it was Spencer who finally convinced me to see someone. I guess, like you, I kept trying to deal with it by myself. Like you, the therapist I'm seeing is really good.”

“I'm glad. I really am. Doesn't surprise me about Spencer being the one to convince you.” Morgan smiled. “He truly loves you. You must know that, right?”

Now Hotch was the one to smile. “I know.”

“Well, if you need anything. Someone to talk to, who's gone through a similar thing, you let me know.”

Hotch found that he was rather touched by Morgan's offer. “Thank you. I'll keep that in mind.”

Morgan then left the room. Hotch stood a moment, smiled a little to himself, then stepped out of the room, himself. Spencer stood by the door, wrapped in his favourite fluffy dark scarf. In his eyes, Hotch read concern, worry, but also love, warmth.

“Everything alright?”

“Everything is fine,” Hotch said, truly meaning it.

*

Their bodies glided together, mouths tenderly sucking on soft flesh, hands stroking, moving over the curves, lines and edges of each other's bodies, lube covered fingers penetrating deep into each other. Hotch groaned, feeling absolute pleasure ripple through him, at every stab of Spencer's long fingers.

Spencer grabbed the lube off the table, pouring more onto his free hand and rubbing it onto Hotch's erection.

“Wait!” He ceased Spencer's attentions, to move Spencer's hand to his own erection. Spencer instantly understood the implication.

“Are you sure?” Concern, lust, love and fear flooded the dark irises.

“Yes, I'm ready. I want you to make love to me.” Hotch poured more lube onto his hand and started to cover Spencer's erection with it. “I want to feel you inside me. I want to know how it feels with someone that I love.”

Spencer groaned. “I don't want to hurt you...”

“You won't.”

Hotch's prediction turned out to be true. Spencer took his time, preparing him. When it finally came the time, for him to enter Hotch, Hotch had tensed up, certain to feel pain. Only, as Spencer inched in, slowly, he felt no pain, only slight pressure. He felt his legs wrapped around the narrow waist, looking up into his eyes. Concern, lust, love and fear still played across the lovely orbs.

“It's ok,” Hotch leant up to kiss him on the neck.

“I should be saying that to you!” Spencer laughed, a little shakily. In fact, his entire body trembled, slightly.

_Adorable, loveable, crazy man._

“Are you alright?” Spencer said, once he was fully sheathed inside Hotch.

“I'm alright. I trust you.”

“I love you, so much,” Spencer said, leaning down to kiss him on the mouth. Their tongues tangled and Spencer started to move, slowly at first. For a moment, the ghost of Foyett came back, but Hotch deliberately banished him away. There was no pain, in Spencer's movements, as there had been with Foyett, no desire to see him suffer. As Spencer started thrusting faster, Hotch thrusted up and down, himself, in time to his movements. They started a rhythm, together. Hotch could feel him pressing against his prostate with every thrust and felt pleasure spiral out over his body.

“Is it ok?” Spencer asked.

“It’s good...” Hotch groaned. “It's so...”

“Damn, Hotch! You're so... you're so sexy and beautiful...” Spencer said, moving faster now. Hotch groaned, the combined movement inside him, with Spencer's hand on his erection, was enough to make him close... so close...

Yes... he groaned louder. He was going to... and it was alright. He didn't feel shame or guilt but rather joy, intense, overwhelming love. He looked into Spencer's eyes. The fear had disappeared, but the love, lust and concern remained. Hotch cupped his face in his hands.

“Yes, beautiful, it's so...”

Spencer suddenly closed his eyes, his mouth gaping, “Oh Hotch!”

With Foyett, feeling proof of his climax inside of him, the sudden warm surge as he orgasmed, only served to make him feel almost violently ill, his ultimate shame now complete. With Spencer however, it was enough to spill him over. “Spencer....” He groaned, as intense pleasure rippled through him. Now, he was complete. Now, Spencer was a part of him, in a way that Foyett never was. Foyett may have breached him, even claimed him with his release inside of him, but he did not belong to him, did not own him, the way Spencer now did.

Spencer moved, to rest his head on Hotch's chest, tenderly removing himself.

“Was it... ok?” He asked.

“It was wonderful. So great, in fact, that I think we'll have to do it again, sometime soon.”

Spencer placed his head up, resting his chin on Hotch's chest. “I'd like that too.”

*

On screen, Captain Kirk was involved in a ridiculously silly fight with a clear man in a monster costume. William Shatner was rolling around the ground, in the most ludicrous fashion. Hotch had to admit, while he appreciated the many 'forward for it's time' aspects of the series, he simply couldn't fathom the pure cheese of it.

“This is a very famous scene.” Spencer explained, then went on to explain why. Hotch found that he didn't much care. As much as Spencer tried to get him interested in the original series, he found the production values, and acting, to be too sub par for his tastes. However, he liked watching it with Spencer, because of his pure fanboy joy. Talking now, he waved his hands frantically about, his lovely face suffused with emotion.

“Spencer?” Hotch already had his arm around his waist. He simply gripped him tighter and pulled him even closer, kissing his temple.

After making love, they hadn't bothered changing, simply wrapped a sheet around their naked bodies and moved to the lounge room. Hotch had expected that he'd want to have a shower, afterwards, but soon realised that this wasn't the case. There was something in Spencer's claiming of him, marking him with proof of his passions, that made him want to stay dirty, a little longer. He wanted Spencer to have him again, and he wanted to have Spencer. He wanted them both to be dirty, to feel equally claimed by the other.

Hotch kissed his cheek, his jaw, feeling proud of himself that he had taken the courage, to intimate to Spencer that he wanted to be more than friends, to begin with.

_It paid out, more than you could possibly imagine, at the time._

“You're not watching, are you?”

“Thank you for tonight.”

Spencer turned to face him. 'I just, I didn't want to hurt you.”

“You didn't. You couldn't. Like I said, I trust you.” He leant forward and kissed the full lips.

He looked back into those eyes, seeing acceptance, and immense love, but also vulnerability, serenity.

“I want to....I just want for us to be together,” Spencer said. “I don't mean to freak you out, but I can see us, thirty, forty years from now. Still chasing down the bad guys, then going home and being together, being with each other.”

“If I'm still chasing bad guys in forty years, please take out my gun and shoot me. But, I do see us together.”

Something sparked in the brown eyes then, profound joy and hope.

“I sort of like what we have going here, “ Hotch said. “It's... not too bad, conversing with a man, who I can just talk to, for hours and never get bored. Who I consider to be a good friend. Or making love with same, incredibly beautiful man. Yes, that's... sort of... ok, running my tongue, or hands, over the beautiful long limbs that he, ironically, thinks are ugly. I don’t care what they teased you about, Spencer. Your body, now, is nothing to be ashamed of. Far from it. I will tell you again and again until it gets through that one part of your intellect that's oddly lacking. You. Are. So beautiful. And I'm not just talking about physically, either. Eventually, the physical beauty will fade, as the years pass, I know. But that won't matter. Not to me.”

Spencer leant forward and hungrily started kissing his lips, hands stroking Hotch's face. They released, Spencer still cupping Hotch's face.

“Make love to me. Please. Right now. I want to feel you, inside me. I want you so much.”

“Alright, we'll have to set the alarm early, tomorrow morning, then. I want you to make love to me again, then. I want to feel you too.”

Spencer nodded. Damn, he looked so vulnerable.

“I think I can check my calendar... see if I'm free...”

Hotch leant forward and started sucking on his neck, flinging both their sheets off, so their bare bodies could undulate against each other.

“Yes, that's a certainty, for making love to Aaron Hotchner, tomorrow morning.”

“Schedule in tomorrow after work, as well.” Hotch murmured, against his neck. He could feel Spencer start to physically respond. “Now that you've had me. I want it more.”

“So selfish...” Spencer laughed. “Alright, that's fine with me. On one condition. First you have to take me, hard, on the couch until I'm completely insensible with lust for you.”

“Condition accepted,” Hotch said.

Tbc...


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who are reading! Just one more chapter to go :)

Morgan and Rossi were the last to return to the police station, having gone back for another search of the third victim's house.

“Ok people,” Hotch said, addressing all of the now returned team, gathered around the centre table of the back conference room. “How about we go to the motel and sleep for a few hours? Meet back here at seven am tomorrow morning, for a fresh start.”

The others concurred that this was probably a good idea.

It had been a long couple of days. The case, in a town by the name of Hope, deep in the middle of Texas, had proved to be rather difficult. There seemed to be no link between the three victims. All had been killed in different ways. The first victim was shot, the second strangled, the third poisoned with cyanide. All three had close people in their lives, who would gain from their deaths, and yet the lead suspects all had tight alibis. Hope was a small town and had only had one murder in the last five years. Now, there had been three murders, within three days of each other. The profilers were convinced that the murders were all linked, they just couldn't figure out how.

Sometimes it happened, on cases. They worked hard, only to hit a series of blocks and round-abouts. The only way to go forward was to continue, with a clear mind, nourished after a good night of sleep.

Morgan was gathering up his gear to leave, when Spencer came up to him.

“Hey, Morgan. Happy Halloween.” He had dark circles under his eyes.

Happy Halloween, pretty boy,” Morgan said. Certainly, this hadn't been the best October 31st. But then, watching Hotch, who was still gathering all of his notes together, it was probably only marginally better than the year before, when Jack had gone to the hospital, after hitting his head on concrete. Spencer then came up and stood by Hotch, wordlessly helping him gather the papers together.

Watching them, Morgan felt the usual sting of guilt. He had always thought of himself as a fair person, a self-reflective person. His previous dalliance with Spencer Reid had shown him how far he was from the person he perceived himself to be.

Morgan had always noticed just how pretty Spencer was. Hell, as far as he was concerned, who wouldn't? He recalled the night that he finally took Reid to bed. He had been sitting in a booth at a rather swanky bar, with Garcia, watching Reid converse with Rossi, a few booths diagonally across.

“I never understood this about Reid,” he'd said. “Look at him! He's damned pretty. Why aren't women throwing themselves at him?”

“Well, I can tell you something,” Garcia took a sip of her vodka and coke, before continuing. “A few days ago, I was at the Cocoa Lounge, getting a coffee. You know how they make the best coffee, with the cinnamon on top? Anyway, your pretty boy comes in. I can see a few of the girls next to me ogling him. Anyway, he leaves and they start saying 'Who is he? Is he single?' and so on. Anyway, the third girl said 'Forget it. He's really up himself. Apparently some genius. Thinks he's above other people'.”

“Well, that's not true,” Morgan said.

“You and I know that. But that's the problem. Because he's a bit shy and always off in his own Spencer Reid world, women just assume that he's arrogant. It's a shame they don't see the kooky, silly, awkward Reid that we know and love.”

Hotch had then come into the booth that Morgan was watching, a few drinks in hand. He gave them to Reid and Rossi, and then favoured Reid with an unusual expression. It took a moment to figure out that he was appraising Spencer. Certainly, Spencer was too interested in his conversation with Rossi, to realise that his superior was currently looking at him like he was a chocolate eclair. Morgan had seen Hotch snatching glances at at Spencer every so often over the years. However, he did note, of late, that the looks were becoming more frequent. Hotch was never one to give much away, in regards to his emotions. Even so, Morgan knew him well enough to also realise the slight change in Hotch's expressions, in regards to Spencer. There was a new light, in his eyes, when he looked at him, now.

“If you're going to ask him out, I'd get in quick, before Hotch does,” Garcia had then said.

Hotch did not ask Reid out that night, which was fortuitous for Morgan, who invited himself into Spencer's house, then invited himself into Spencer Reid, in a different way. That night, he was certain that they'd woken the neighbours. Afterwards, Spencer had looked up to him, his large dark eyes vulnerable, needy. Morgan knew then that Spencer wanted him to stay. A large part of him had longed to say yes. The larger part of him, feeling like a coward, had ran.

As much as he knew that what he was doing was wrong, he couldn't stop doing it. Spencer had become like a drug to him. He needed to taste that flesh, to be in that body, or allow Spencer in his. He knew that Spencer wanted more, a proper relationship. Morgan couldn't give it. It took him a long time to realise, that he actually longed to give Spencer exactly what he wanted. Only, he couldn't. So, he settled for a tawdry ghost of what they could have had.

Of course, Spencer was no fool, so he'd moved on, to someone who could give him the stable relationship that he needed. And, rather than being sensible and fair (as Morgan had always seen himself), Morgan had... well, it took him a long time to realise....

_Let's face it. you acted like a complete little shit._

Although none of it was Spencer's fault, blind jealousy and envy had driven Morgan to that conclusion. He had felt humiliated by what he saw as Spencer's rejection of him and felt momentary sickened glee, when he had poured his venom directly onto his former lover, followed by loathsome guilt, upon seeing Spencer's clear hurt.

Watching Spencer now, he realised that, even though it was over a year ago, he still had a lot to make up for.

_It could have been me._

Morgan wasn't the type to pine. He accepted that Hotch and Spencer were together, in fact, was grateful for the union. They were good for each other, complimented each other in ways that perhaps him and Spencer never could.

However, he did realise that, had he not given in, to the fear that had driven him to emotionally distance himself from Spencer, perhaps he could have been the one to lie next to that gorgeous body every night. To begin with, the thought had further exacerbated his jealousy. Now, he just took it as a warning, for the next time he fell, hard for another human. It had not happened yet, but he didn’t mind. He was simply living his life, joyful for his friends, his family, the job that he loved.

Hotch took the rest of the papers off Spencer and for a moment, his hand stroked Spencer's. Morgan decided then, to leave the station. Although it was no secret that they were a couple, Spencer and Hotch were very rarely affectionate at work. In fact, Morgan noticed that Hotch often placed Spencer with other people, perhaps as a way to not be tempted by him.

A week before, Morgan had actually left the BAU headquarters and was on the freeway, when he realised that he'd left his scarf on his chair, in the conference room. He decided to turn around and drive back. Although it would probably keep, for the weekend, he loved that scarf.

He arrived back at headquarters, and was walking towards the conference room, when the view before him, stopped him in his tracks. Both Spencer and Hotch clearly thought that everyone had left.

Hotch's laptop lay open, on the table. Hotch, himself, sat in a chair, before the laptop. Spencer was seated on his lap, facing him and laughing. The sound was so completely unbridled by the horror and tension that occupied their working lives, that Morgan found his heart warmed.

“Well, I was having vivid fantasies of grabbing the guy's pretty face, and shoving it face-first into the soup he was eating,” Hotch said.

“It was a first. I've never had a male model come onto me, before,” Spencer said, as his hands played with Hotch's tie. “Notice how he sort of looked like a younger Rossi?”

“Yes, if you cover his head with a paper bag, and imagine a younger Rossi sitting there,” Hotch said.

Spencer then laughed, once more, swatting Hotch lightly on the chest.

Morgan decided, at that point, to forget about the scarf. He'd pick it up later.

*

He now lay in his bed, too keyed up to sleep. Finally accepting the inevitable, he switched on the light, and reached for his James Patterson novel, beside his bed.

JJ had been the one to book the rooms, not giving much thought to the order of who was next to who. Clearly, the walls were thin and he was situated right next to Hotch and Spencer. Upon their arrival in the room, he had heard every word that they had said. Small talk. Nothing particularly interesting. They mainly talked about the case. Feeling intrusive, he had deliberately gone into the shower of his motel room, to wash himself.

He opened the book and started to read.

Creaking noises sounded, through the wall behind his head. Followed by Spencer's voice.

“Is it ok?”

Damn, the walls really were thin! Their bed must have been right up against the wall, beside his.

_Yep, thank you, JJ._

“Yes, keep going. It's great... yes, Spencer... yes...”

Damn, now it was pretty obvious what was happening. The bed started to rock in a rhythmic fashion. He could hear Spencer moaning.

Morgan found himself getting hard. He supposed he should have felt guilty about this. After all, these were two close friends of his. Only he didn't. He started to wonder what position they were in. Probably Hotch was face up, legs around Spencer's waist, with Spencer on top.

Morgan thought about that beautiful ass, that he'd paid so much attention to, when they were lovers, with his fingers, erection, even tongue.

He reached into his pyjama bottoms and pulled out his erection, tugging.

Spencer was now moaning with every creak of the bed.

Morgan imagined being in the room with the lovers, sliding into Spencer's tight heat, as he slid into Hotch, moving fast, the way he liked.

Spencer's moans were getting louder. He could also hear the muffled sounds of Hotch's own groans.

_Pounding harder, harder, as Spencer, in turn, pounds Hotch. Leaning across to lick the sweat off Spencer's neck, feeling the impossible tight heat, surrounding his organ, the flesh of his hips in his hands._

In the other room, Spencer's moans were now muffled. Perhaps he was kissing Hotch. Perhaps his lips were against his flesh.

_Pulling out, then lifting Spencer's head. Spencer opens his mouth, willingly taking the erection deep into his mouth, into his throat, muffling his moans of pleasure._

“Spencer!” Hotch suddenly cried out, from the other room.

“Oh oh!” Spencer cried.

_Hotch has already come, and lies, trembling beneath Spencer, who now thrusts into him with abandon, crying out, muffled around Morgan's erection as he comes inside Hotch's body. Morgan can hold out no longer, he pulls out of Spencer's mouth, and finds entry into Spencer's body once more, thrusting a few more times, before coming, crying out with his own satisfaction._

The room, next door was quiet. Morgan moved to the bathroom and used a tissue to wipe his come off his stomach, then threw it into the toilet and flushed. He did feel a little guilty, now, about masturbating to the sound of the lovers, and using a fantasy of having a threesome, particularly the part of his fantasy involving Spencer giving him fellatio, just after penetration. One time, when they were having sex, Morgan was thrusting into him, and had whispered in his ear that he wanted to pull out and for Spencer to suck him.

Instantly, Spencer had said “No, no I don't want to do that.”

Morgan had then said “That's ok, pretty boy, we don't have to do that.”

He never asked again.

It's a fantasy, he told himself. You're just testing boundaries, that's all. In reality, now, Spencer wouldn't want to do that, or any of your fantasy. Nor, for that matter, would Hotch.

In the next room, he could hear Spencer's laughter.

*

Morgan woke up to the sounds of the bed, in the next room creaking, this time with a faster motion. He looked at the time. It was now 5.50am.

_Damn guys. Again?_

“Oh! Oh oh oh...” Spencer's voice, in time with the rhythmic moving of the bed. “Mm.... mmm...mmmm.”

This time, Morgan was too tired, to feel turned on. He placed the pillow over his head.

“Oh oh ohohohohoh....”

“That's it, beautiful, come for me, beautiful,” Hotch's voice trembled..

Morgan wondered if anyone in the other rooms now heard Spencer's loud scream of completion.

The creaking continued, this time in an even faster motion.

“Want you to come... want you to come inside me...” Spencer said.

 _Damn, Spencer!_ If he wasn't so tired, he was certain he'd have to masturbate again.

Now Hotch was crying out, getting progressively louder, with each thud of the bed, before he gave a loud, strangled cry of clear pleasure.

Silence, a few seconds.

“I think we may have been a bit loud,” Spencer's voice, followed by a distinct Spencer giggle.

You think? Morgan thought, feeling irritable.

“I guess we should shower. Start getting ready for another frustrating day,” Hotch said.

“We'll find the unsub. It'll be fine.”

“Mm... ever the optimist...I'm just looking forward to our time away. Just two more weeks...”  
  
“I never thought I'd hear Aaron Hotchner say he was looking forward to time away from work!”

Morgan had to agree.

“You're right. Why on earth would I want to go on a three week long trip to Italy, with my gorgeous, intelligent amazing boyfriend? I think I'll ring the travel agent now and cancel.”

“Fine, you cancel your ticket. I'll go by myself. Maybe pick up an Italian guy. He'll drive a motorcycle and have biceps as big as three of me put together.”

“It sounds like you've put some thought into this.”

Spencer laughed. “And then he'll leave me for another big biceped Italian motorcycle rider.”

“Well, they do say that holiday romances never work out. Particularly ones involving big biceped Italian motorcycle riders.”

“I guess I'll have to convince my gorgeous badass boyfriend to go to Italy with me, then.”

“Ok, I'll go, if you let me kiss every inch of that beautiful, much-loved face of yours.”

“Deal.”

Silence, a few more seconds. Morgan guessed that Hotch was making good on kissing him.

“Shower?” Spencer asked.

“Sounds good.”

*

From the flushed look that JJ gave Morgan an hour later, when they walked into the police station, he suspected that she, too had heard the lovers.

Both Spencer and Hotch walked in together. Hotch had not a hair out of place, his suit pressed, expression stern. Looking at him, one could never had guessed that he had made loud love with his boyfriend, an hour earlier, while cooing about Spencer's obvious beauty.

Spencer, on the other hand, looked slightly more mussed. His hair was uncombed and hung in loose tangles about his head. His trousers were unironed. He had a vacant, almost dreamy expression, on his face, his lips curled up in a slight smile.

“Good, you're all here,” Hotch said.

*  
Morgan had searched the house of the third victim thoroughly the day before. However, he was certain that there was something that he had missed. He was determined, today, to solve this crime, adamant that he didn't want to spend another night, listening to Spencer and Hotch have loud sex.

They were now furtively looking through the bedroom, Spencer going through the drawers and Morgan through the wardrobe. Spencer pulled out a shoe box and started rifling through the receipts inside.

“Airline ticket. Dated October sixteenth. Passenger Dale Boland.”

Morgan turned around to face him. “The husband of the victim. Where was he going?”

“Says Washington.”

“Makes sense. With his business- what?” He could suddenly see the intelligence in the dark eyes working.

“In the house of the second victim, Maria Parker. On the fridge. There was another airline ticket. Also for October sixteenth. For her mother. Except she wasn't going to Washington, she was going to Cincinnati.”

“So both of the prime suspects were catching planes on on the same day? Interesting.” Morgan took out his mobile phone and dialled Garcia.

“What's up, my gorgeous hunk of a man?”

“Just wanting to hear your sexy voice,” Morgan said smiling. “And to ask something. Kenneth Richards, did he take a plane on October sixteenth?”

“Give me just two seconds to look it up and here we go. Yes, he took a plane from to New York, at five fifteen in the afternoon.”

“He was pretty rich, wasn't he? I'd bet he would have access to airport lounge. As would the other two main suspects.”

“Give me two secs. Yes, all three main suspects were in the airport lounge, that afternoon.”

“Thanks gorgeous, I owe you one.”

“I'll remember that promise.”

Morgan hung up the mobile. “All three main suspects catching flights on the same day. All in the same private lounge.”

“All three have airtight alibis,” Spencer said. “Have you ever seen the movie 'Strangers on a Train?'”

“So, they sit in the lounge waiting for their flights, maybe have a few drinks, then talk about the fact that they have people in their lives that they want dead. But, if they are murdered, they'll be the main suspect, so they organise to kill _each other's_ people, and alibi themselves. Damn, that's cold.”

“I’ll bet you'll find that at least one of the other two were in the area, on the day that the particular victims died.”

Morgan shook his head, picking up the mobile to call Hotch.

*

In the end, the mother of the second victim was the one to break down and confess, not only to organising the murders in the airport lounge, but also to killing the third victim. The other two were still adamant that they did not know her. But the team felt vindicated on a job well done.

A few beers in the pub were in order. Morgan had had a good night, drinking, chatting with his colleagues and dancing with pretty girls.

He now stood at the bar, ordering another beer. JJ came up to him.

“I'm leaving. By the way...?” She gestured to the booth in the far corner. Spencer had his head on Hotch's shoulder, his eyes closed. Hotch's arm was around his shoulders.

“Well, he has had a long day, and night.”

JJ's mouth twitched. “If it's any consolation, I was kept up, too.”

Morgan laughed. “Sorry you had to hear it, too.”

She smiled and shook her head. “Goodbye, Morgan.”

Morgan paid for his beer and came over to the booth.

“He's out of it,” he said, gesturing to Spencer.

“Yes, well we'll be going soon,” Hotch said, lifting his hand up to brush the hair from Spencer's face. There was something utterly loving in the small gesture. Spencer did not stir.

“By the way, we're having a dinner party next Friday night. Would you like to come?” Hotch asked.

“Sure, I'll be there.”

*  
“So the scientific facts, about climate change...” Spencer continued to prattle on.

The two lovers, plus Morgan and Rossi sat in the lounge room, a glass of wine in hand. The other colleagues had left a while ago. Morgan felt pleasantly buzzed.

As Spencer talked, Hotch continued to regard him with an amused, yet loving expression, Spencer's hand in his. Morgan noticed that they were more likely to show affection outside work hours. Rossi simply sat on the armchair opposite, with his arms folded, but amused expression on his face.

“I don't even know why I'm arguing this. It's preaching to the choir. You-” He jabbed his finger at Hotch. “Just like playing the proverbial Devil's Advocate.”

“It's more that he likes a good debate. Always the lawyer,” Rossi said. All four laughed.

“Well, I think I'd better...” Morgan stood up.

“How much have you had to drink?” Hotch asked.

“Don't worry, I don't plan to drive. I'll take a taxi.”

“So, how will you pick up your car?”

“I'll take a taxi back tomorrow.”

“That's just ridiculous. You can stay here. Rossi I'm assuming you're staying?” After obtaining a confirming nod from his friend, Hotch continued. “Well, he usually takes the spare room. This sofa folds out onto a bed. I can assure you, it's very comfortable.”

“I can vouch for that,” Spencer said, then immediately flushed, confirming to Morgan that naughty shenanigans, between Spencer and Hotch, had occurred on the piece of furniture that he'd be sleeping on, that night.

_What the hell? I'm already pretty tired._

*

They turned out to be right. When Morgan woke up, in the middle of the night, bladder throbbing, he felt comfortable and warm. Throwing the blankets off himself, he padded down the hall, to the bathroom.

“Oh oh oh...”

_Guys, really?_

The door opposite was slamming, _bang bang bang_ , as though something ( _or some one... some pretty boy_ ) was being repeatedly slamming up against it.

The noise stopped, momentarily.

_Good, maybe they've-_

“Don't stop! Keep going, I want you... I want you so badly...”

The door started slamming even harder this time, Spencer's cries became more frenzied.

Morgan shook his head and went into the bathroom, closing and locking the door and taking care of his business, deliberately taking his time, before washing his hands.

When he departed the bathroom, it was thankfully quiet in the other room. He all but scampered back to the lounge room.

*

He awoke, to the smell of pancakes. Wandering into the kitchen, he saw Hotch, standing by the stove.

“Coffee's brewed,” he said, gesturing to the pot.

“So, I hear you guys are going to Italy...” Morgan said, as he busied himself with pouring coffee into a mug he'd located on the sink.

“Well, Jack is going to an exchange programme in Sweden. Four weeks in a Swedish classroom. I was fretting about him being there, so Spencer suggested we go see him. Well, I brought the idea up to Jack, but he insisted that he would be alright. He didn’t need me there. So, instead, Spencer suggested we go somewhere else, to keep my mind off it. I've always wanted to go to Florence, so...”

“Sounds like you guys will have a great time!” Morgan sat down, at the dining table.

In that moment, Rossi stepped into the room. “Italy? Do not pass up Michaelangelo's David. It's tourist crazy but it's well worth seeing.”

“That’s one of the reason's I'm going there.”

Spencer then padded into the room, wearing a dressing gown. His hair looked tousled, adorably so, in Morgan’s opinion. Hotch must have thought so, too, because he suddenly moved forward and kissed Spencer on the mouth.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he said, as they released. There was a warmth in his voice that Morgan had never heard, before.

“Coffee, good...” Spencer walked over to grab a mug. As he started to pour the coffee, Hotch reached around him and kissed his neck.

“Give the kid a chance to wake up before you start molesting him!” Rossi said, smiling.

“Yes, please don't kiss me, gorgeous bad-ass boyfriend,” Spencer said, with the straight-faced tone of the way that Hotch usually spoke. Hotch smiled and reached out, lightly whacking him on the rump.

“Do that again and I'll tickle you!” He warned, then grabbed his coffee and sat down at the table with it.

Hotch continued to smile, as he went back to his pancakes. Morgan was suddenly aware of how little he'd seen Hotch smile, in all the time that he'd known him. When he did, it lit up his entire face, marking him as beyond handsome.

Spencer sat down beside Morgan. Watching him bring the drink to his full lips, Morgan was aware of the jolt the sight sent to his groin. He wasn't entirely surprised. Being with Hotch did not prevent Spencer from being attractive, if anything, it seemed to enhance his looks. Morgan was not concerned. One could not help who one was attracted to. It was one's actions in life, that determined what kind of person they were, not one's emotions.

Morgan had determined, many months before, to simply let Spencer be. He could admire him. He didn’t see the harm in that. But he had vowed to continue to treat him as the good friend that he was, and nothing more.

*

Morgan had just clipped in his belt, when Spencer came running out of the house.

“Morgan!” He reached the car window and stopped, momentarily panting. Morgan noticed that he was still wearing his dressing gown.

“You forgot this,” he said. In his hand, he held Morgan's watch. Morgan recalled how he had taken it off, before bed the night before, placing it on the table beside the couch.

“Oh, thanks.” he said, grabbing it off Spencer.

“We still doing baseball try-outs tomorrow?” Spencer asked, as Morgan reattached the watch to his wrist.

Morgan smiled. “Sounds good to me, pretty boy.”

“You know, I'll probably flunk.”

“You'll be fine. Just remember what I told you. Confidence. You can do it.”

“Alright, well I'll give you a call later. We can go through strategies.”

“Sure thing.”

Morgan watched him walk back into the house, admiring the grace of his movement, how the sun highlighted his hair. It was, indeed, a beautiful day. He decided that he'd call Garcia, find out what naughtiness they could get up to, that day.

Morgan smiled, started the car, and pulled down the street, away from Hotch and Spencer’s house.

Tbc...  
(Epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my readers mentioned the idea of a three-some, to solve some of the Morgan/Reid/Hotch tension. This was the best I could do, for this fic :).


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! It's with great relief (and a bit of sadness) that I complete this one! Thank you to all who've followed this the entire way. :) Hope you enjoy this final chapter.
> 
> Hotch/Reid has become my new fave pairing so there should be more stories of that pairing to come!
> 
> For any Morgan/Reid shippers, check out the other fic I'm working on- "Moving In" (plug ;))
> 
> Anyway, it's been a blast!

Hotch's arm reached over and pressed down, perhaps a little too hard, on the alarm's sleep button. In response, the body lodged up against his nestled further into him, until he was half-way across his torso.

“Spencer...” Hotch said, lightly shaking his left shoulder. “We've got to get up.”

“Mm... sleep some more...”

“Come on Spencer...”

Spencer turned his head and started to kiss Hotch's chest, his lips soft on his flesh, as his hand went down to lightly stroke between his legs.

“No time, beautiful...” Hotch said, then gently pulled him off himself.

“You're no fun...” Spencer murmured, then snuggled back into his own pillow. Hotch ambled over to the bathroom, to toilet and shower. He supposed Spencer had time for a few more minutes rest.

Though they had packed the night before, Hotch still felt as though he had too many items to prepare. He went back into the bedroom and swiftly changed into jeans, a t-shirt and a grey woollen jumper, then wandered into the kitchen, where his list of items to do, before departing for Italy, sat on the bench. The majority had been ticked off.

The most important item, that he was taking with him to Italy, was very carefully stashed in tissue paper, in a side pocket of his case. This he had checked at least a dozen times, the night before. He had rechecked their passports, visas and itinerary, and was going through the suitcases by the door, once more, when the doorbell rang. Hotch undid the latches and opened it.

“Doing frantic last minute preparing, I see,” Rossi, standing on the front porch, appeared to be irritatingly chipper.

“I think we're prepared. Finally,” Hotch said, as he opened the door for him.

Rossi didn't say anything, simply watched him with a knowing glint in his eyes. For a moment, both friends looked at each other, not saying anything, not needing to. Then Rossi spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It will be fine. You know this, Hotch,” he placed a warm hand on his shoulder, as he stepped into the house.

Hotch knew that he wasn't entirely talking about the holiday.

*

Six miles above the ground, Hotch could still feel the jitters running rampant through his body. He took another sip of his gin and tonic and glanced at the sleeping face beside him. Spencer's hand still clutched the book that he had been reading. From inspection of the title, it appeared to be an in-depth study of ancient linguistics.

Hotch's mind went, once again, to the tiny item stashed in the case.

Jack was the first person that he'd asked. If Jack had been in anyway ill-at-ease with the idea, then Hotch would have instantly forgotten that he'd ever thought of it, to begin with. However, his son had been instantly agreeable.

“Are you sure, because-” Hotch had began.

“Spencer is awesome. No one will ever replace mum, but he's... well, if someone had to come in a very close second, I'd choose him. And he makes you so happy. Honestly, dad, this is the happiest you've been since before mum died.”

“I really did love your mother-”

“I know, dad. It's ok,” Jack had then hugged him.

“I love you Jack,” he'd said. “So much...”

“I love you too dad. And I kinda love Spencer too, in a way. He's pretty cool.”

A week later, with Jack's blessing, he had broached the subject casually with Spencer, using Australia as a way in. That morning, he'd read in the paper that Australia had voted into its parliament a gay marriage bill and had brought up the subject at breakfast. This had then sparked one of Spencer's usual diatribes, this time on marriage, itself. He talked about the history of marriage, the subjugation of women and the church's role, even now, in attempting to use religion to force out anyone they deemed “unsavoury” for such a ceremony. He then spoke about religion itself, and the death of God, in a scientific world. Although he did say that it was a good thing, a necessary thing, for everyone to be equal, in the eyes of the law, 

A few weeks later, he'd broached the subject with Rossi. Hotch was aware that he was a very traditional man. He loved Spencer and wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. For him, this was simply the next step.

“Spencer may have an intellectual argument against marriage, but if the man he loves is proposing... well, that's a different thing. You'll see,” Rossi had said.

Hotch wasn't so sure. Even so, Rossi came with him to buy the ring. Both soon realised that it was easier to buy an engagement ring for a woman. Spencer would not wish for anything flashy. In the end, after visiting half a dozen jewellery shops in the Alexandria city centre, Hotch simply bought a simple gold band, with their initials and the date of their first date inscribed on it.

A few days later, after the solving of a case involving arson, but thankfully no deaths, Morgan had come into his office, with a rather concerned look on his face.

“I've seen something different in you, the past few days. You seem a little.... anxious... Everything alright?”

“Everything is good, thank you.”

“Is everything alright between you and Spencer?”

“Everything is wonderful.”

For a moment, Morgan had just stared at him, as though he was an interesting puzzle that he was working out. Then a sudden, knowing glint came into his eyes.

“Oh you sly devil!” Morgan laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, then leant forward, to whisper. “So when are you planning on asking him?”

Hotch didn't even ask how Morgan had worked it out. “When we go to Italy.”

In that instant, Spencer appeared in the doorway.

“All good?” He asked.

“Oh yes, everything is most definitely wonderful, pretty boy,” Morgan had then winked at Hotch.

*  
“See the waiter's red jacket, that represents the forces of Garibaldi, in the Italian unification. Actually many of them were volunteers...” Spencer started his spiel, as the red jacketed waiter walked away, with rigid-backed arrogance to his strides. Hotch looked around himself, still feeling a little overwhelmed that they were currently in another country. They currently sat under a large red umbrella, eating al fresco style, in the grey bricked Piazza Della Republica, that centred the city of Florence. Looking to his right, he felt in-awed at the sight of the massive arc of the beautifully architectured yellow bricked building, that towered above them, in the semi-circular piazza. Before that, sat a merry-go-round, where young children screeched and laughed, as the plastic horses sent them around. On the other side sat more al fresco umbrellas, featuring tables of other native Italians and tourists, drinking coffee and wine, eating good food, laughing and talking.

He looked back to Spencer and could not help but smile. Spencer continued to talk about the history of the cafe that they were currently sitting in. Hotch listened, with some interest but was mainly bathing in the wonderful feeling of being in another country and in love. The waiter came back with two small coffees.

“Let's test if Italian coffee really is the best,” Hotch said, lifting his tiny cup. He took a sip, then closed his eyes and sighed with contentment. It was the right balance of bitterness and smoothness, with a hint of hazelnut. Spencer was currently in the process of adding sugar to his coffee, in Hotch's mind, ruining the taste.

Hotch reached down to reassure himself of the ring in his pocket. Feeling the smooth circle, he smiled to himself. Not now, he told himself. Not yet.

*

After a rather exquisite lunch at the cafe, Hotch and Spencer walked the streets of Florence, not talking much, simply admiring the stunning architecture and experiencing the grand history, of buildings thousands of years old. Every so often, Hotch would place his hand in his pocket to verify the ring. Finally, they reached the entrance to the Accademia di Belle Arti di Firenze. In the front sat a replica of the famous David. For a moment, both simply stood, admiring the lovely lines and curves of the stone statue.

“Can I ask something?” Spencer asked grasping his hand. “Can we see it tomorrow? It's already past three and I want to take my time, in this art gallery.”

“I think that's a great idea,” Hotch said, slipping an arm around his waist. Both walked on, continuing their exploration of the city.

“Is it what you imagined?” Spencer asked, twenty minutes later.

“Better,” Hotch admitted.

They reached what appeared to be a crowd of people lining up.

“Excuse me,” Spencer turned to the one at the back of the line. “Do you speak English?”

The woman shook her head.

“Cos e Questo?”

Hotch looked at Spencer in bemusement, as the woman answered in Italian.

“Grazie,” he grinned at Hotch. “My accent would no doubt be horrendous, but I have been teaching myself to understand Italian, over the past few weeks. I can read it quite well and I think my understanding is... passable.”

“Genius man,” Hotch said.

“I think she said 'Gardens... Boboli Gardens...Do you want to go in? Or should we keep walking?”

“People lining up for something means it will be either very good, or very hipster... Doesn't look like a hipster crowd. Sure, let's check it out.”

*  
The line moved relatively fast, at least. Half an hour later, they were walking through the lush green gardens, stopping every so often to admire stone sculptures from the eighteenth century and beyond. Hotch felt utterly at peace. He had no concept of past or future. The horrors of his daily working life, the pain of his past, Hailey, Foyett, all were completely erased from his mind. It was an odd sensation for him.

No, he told himself. It used to be.

Now, he realised that the sensation was starting to occur more often, often not in times of great passion but in simpler moments. Spencer and him helping Jack with a science experiment for school, sitting on the sofa at home, Jack on one side, Spence on the other, hearing both laugh at whatever movie they'd decided on, for the night. Lying naked with Spencer, post-coital, feeling the weight of his body, that overwhelming heat.

Hotch suddenly realised that he had travelled across the world, to achieve the kind of peace that he received daily, at home. Still, he had to admit, the garden truly was magnificent.

“Spencer...”

Spencer turned to him. He was wearing a scarf he'd picked up from a store clearly designed for American tourists as himself, in mind. It was blue and had the words “Italia” written across it. One of the red autumn leaves had fallen from the interlocking tree branches above, to rest in his curls. Although he was also covered up with a heavy winter coat, covering his jumper and trousers, he still visibly shivered, a little.

_We always seem to pick the coldest weather, to go travelling in._

The dark eyes looked at him. No guile, as with other human beings, only love, acceptance, trust. Unable to resist, Hotch cupped his face with his hands and leant in for a long, lingering kiss.

“This is beautiful,” Spencer said. “I'm glad we waited to come in.”

Hotch placed his arm around his waist and they continued walking, until they reached the edge of a tiny creak, bisecting the stunning green flora. Spencer sat down on the stone step leading to the edge of the running water.

“Need a break for a second,” he said, patting the space next to him. Hotch sat down beside him. For a long moment, Hotch listened to the tweet of the birds, the rustle of the wind in the trees.

“You know, I'm an atheist, mostly... but I look at beauty such as this and I think... maybe...”

“Don't you think it's all the more remarkable that this...” Spencer gestured around them. “Came about by chance? If you want to believe in a god, believe in the god of evolution, that caused this to come about. See, this part of you I always found rather interesting. You're clearly a very intelligent atheist and yet...you married Hailey in a church, didn't you?”

Hotch sighed. “At the time, it was more because it was what our parents wanted. Look, I know you have an issue with marriage-” it came out a little harsher than he'd intended. “I married Hailey not because of the religious aspect but because I loved her and I wanted it to be legally binding.”

Feeling downcast, Hotch suddenly had the crazy notion of chucking the ring that he'd bought ( _a bargain at only $1129!_ ) into the creek before themselves.

“I don't have an issue with marriage...” Spencer murmured. “One can intellectually recognise the flaws in a practice, yet still recognise the overall benefits. Look, I know you've been a bit tense because you're worried about Jack. It's alright,” he leant forward and kissed him on the cheek. “I bet he's having a fantastic time!”

With that, he's only half-right, Hotch thought.  
*

Hotch groaned, feeling the girth and width of his lover inside of him, the warmth on top of him, the tongue clashing with his own. That he could give up himself in such a way, to yearn for it, still felt like such an amazing step forward, for him. After Foyett, he had never imagined another man could make love with him, in such a way. He had always thought that he would be in total control. Spencer had changed that, as he had changed so many other things, in his life.

“Oh...oh Hotch...” Spencer moaned.

“Oh my love...” Hotch cupped his jaw. There was nothing more tantalising, nothing that brought him to completion quicker, than looking at the beautiful face, alight with passionate desire. He rose his head up, to clash tongues, once more.

Initially, the two had felt a need to take their time, in making love on top of the Italian satin sheets, with simple caresses and tiny kisses. Now, hours later, Hotch cried out in extreme passion, hearing, and feeling Spencer reach his peak at the same time. Both lay, panting a long moment, before Spencer tenderly removed himself.

“Mmm... making love on top of satin sheets, in an Italian villa. How grand of us. Rossi would be happy,” Spencer said, resting his head on Hotch's chest. Hotch unhooked his legs from around Spencer's waist, allowing them to drop.

“I love you,” Hotch said, running a hand down his sweat soaked back.

“Mmm... I love you too...” Spencer murmured.

*

There he was. Truly epic. A masterpiece. For once, Spencer appeared stunned into silence. There was a hushed silence, in the group of people surrounding the carved statue. Hotch walked around, drinking in every inch of the exquisite male form. As much as there was power in the heroic stance, Hotch also read a vulnerability in the details, the veined hands, which somehow also rendered the sculptured man human and therefore fragile.

“He's beautiful,” Spencer said.

Hotch had to agree.

_One to tick off the bucket list._

When they finally left the room, to explore more of the magnificent artwork, Spencer reached out and took Hotch's hand.

“You're _my_ masterpiece,” Spencer whispered to him, smiling.

“Evolved for you over millions of years,” Hotch said, causing Spencer to titter.

*

Not long after they left the Accademia, and decided to return to explore more of the Boboli gardens, the day swiftly turned even more grey and dismal. A heavy downpour had left the grass, upon which they now walked, soggy. The gardens were now relatively empty, many of the tourists opting for the undercover buildings, over the rain. Hotch and Spencer had wandered far, not seeing another tourist for a while now, as the rain fell down steadily upon them. They found a similar brook to the one that they had discovered the day before and sat down, wrapping their arms around each other.

“You know...” Spencer began. “I used to think that you were so... untouchable. I was just so in-awed.”

“Me?” Hotch admitted some surprise.

“I'm glad I started to realise your flaws or I would never have been able to speak to you.”

“What flaws?” Hotch said dryly.

“Hm... well...you aren't really that much of a gardener. You try but the plants are looking a bit... malnourished. And the vegetable patch just refuses to take off, no matter how much fertiliser you're throwing onto it.”

Hotch laughed. Spencer had him there.

“You spend far too much time on personal grooming-”

“Not all of us are naturally beautiful like you are!”

Spencer turned and started poking him, in the ribs. “Stop that! You-” poke “-are-” poke “-just-” poke “-gorgeous-” poke “so-”poke “shut up!”

Spencer then launched into all out tickling. Hotch shrieked, as he fell to the ground, with Spencer going on all out war under his shoulders, on his sides, laughing as he tormented his half shrieking- half laughing victim. Looking impressed with himself, Spencer finally ceased, sitting down on Hotch's legs and looking down onto him, a half-smirk on his face. Hotch looked at the much-loved face, the curls damp with rain, the simple love and warmth in the large dark eyes and felt his heart explode with warmth.

“Marry me,” he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. Spencer's eyes widened, mouth open in pure shock. Hotch could see a myriad of emotions quickly pass through his irises. He hastily reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring, placing it in Spencer's hand. Spencer looked at it as though he'd never seen a ring before. Hotch delicately pulled out from under him and sat beside him.

“I just want to be with you. For the rest of my life. And I want the law to recognise that. It doesn’t have to be in a church. It doesn't have to be religious at all. I don’t care about any of that. I was going around in a daze, after Hailey died and... what happened with Foyett. I tried to make it work with others... Beth. But it just never... and then you... who was there the entire time. It was like I was in a long dark tunnel. I was lost and you pulled me out, brought me into the light.”

Spencer was still staring at the ring. Tears started to splash down his face. Hotch felt a wild panic suddenly grip his already overtaxed mind.

_Oh no, I've done the wrong thing! Idiot Hotch-_

Then Spencer looked at him, and he felt his heart uplift. He saw only love and vulnerability in the brown orbs, as he placed the ring on his finger.

“I just never thought...I just always thought no one would love me enough to want to...” Spencer sobbed. “A long time ago, I just accepted that I'd go through my life alone...”

“Spencer....” Hotch wrapped his arms around his shoulders. “You're not going to be alone. Not ever again.”

“Yes,” Spencer leant forward and kissed him on the lips. Hotch could taste the salt of his tears. “Yes, of course, yes!” He suddenly started laughing. “I love you too, so much. You saved me as well, you know? Of course, I'll marry you, Aaron!”

Aaron. Hotch realised that he preferred Spencer to call him by his nickname. It suddenly hit him. Spencer said yes. He said yes!

Hotch found himself laughing, out of pure joy.

“Yes!” He pumped the air with his fist.

*

Once they reached the hotel room, the first thing Spencer did was call his mother. Hotch connected his mobile to the cord resting on the table, sat down on one of the chairs and texted Rossi.

_He said yes._

Merely seconds later, there was a reply.

_Of course he did! Congrats! I want all the dets when you get back._

“Yes, mum. Yes, he proposed...” Spencer was pacing back and forth across the villa's waxed floorboards. His brow crinkled, then he cast Hotch a sympathetic look. “Ok....” He stepped over and frowned, as he handed Hotch the mobile.

“Hello, this is Hotch,” he said, as he placed it to his ear.

“So, you really truly love Spencer, I can tell. Every time he sees me now, there's a glow to him,” Diana's voice came down the line.

Hotch looked over to where Spencer was currently looking back at him, with a distinctly worried expression.

“I wanted to tell you something. My Spencer was a very lonely man, before you came along. I could tell. But now... you're good for him. And he's good for you. I know you'll both be very happy.”

“Thank you, Diana. We are very happy indeed. I would do anything for your son. I can tell you that right now.”

“Better not let him hear that!”

Hotch laughed.

“Alright, I’ll leave you two to your pasta and iconic statues.”

“Goodbye, Diana.”

“So, it was ok... She was ok,” Spencer said.

“She gave me her blessing,” Hotch said.

“Hm... well, I want to tell JJ and Morgan.”

JJ's reaction was loud. Hotch, who was, at that point, attempting to get through to Jack, could hear her excitement, from the other end of the room.

He felt a twinge of concern, when Spencer then dialled Morgan's number. However, watching Spencer's face, as he told him the news, he could see only excitement and warmth.

“What did Morgan say?” He asked, as Spencer hung up. Jack wasn't picking up. With regret, Hotch ended the call.

“He said congratulations and asked who was going to be the best man. I told him we've only been engaged for a few hours,” Spencer laughed. “Haven't made any plans yet.”

He then tilted his head, looking over to where Hotch was sitting, a new emotion coming into his eyes.

“Come here, beautiful,” Hotch said.

Lips crinkling up, Spencer did as he asked, coming over to sit down on his lap. Hotch took the ridiculous scarf off his neck.

“Now you've cemented us as pure tourists,” he said, flinging the scarf down on the table beside them.

“I like that scarf,” he said, lips quirking up. His eyes, barely inches from Hotch's own, looked very large in his face. Hotch could see the great intelligence working.

“I like _you_ ,” Hotch said, leaning forward to kiss his neck.

“That's good, considering you just proposed.”

Neither spoke for a few minutes, as they focused on the very entertaining tasks of removing clothes and kissing and stroking each other's flesh. Hotch soon had a very naked smirking Spencer on top of him.

“Lube....” He said. “I'll get it.”

Spencer climbed off and an equally naked Hotch rushed over to the bedside table, opening the drawer, to locate where they'd placed the lube, the night before.

“Now that is a gorgeous sight to behold!” Spencer said. Hotch snatched the lube and turned back to him. Spencer sat down in the chair by the table, legs slightly apart, looking very comparable to any of the statues that they had studied that day, but for the rather salacious erection. Hotch grinned back at him and came back, sitting in the chair opposite and pulling Spencer over, on top of him again.

“Did I ever tell you that you have a very gorgeous behind?” Spencer said, moaning as Hotch used his lube covered fingers to both stroke him and slowly enter him, preparing him. “Yes, in terms of the male anatomy your bottom is very pert,” he giggled a little. “Very nice indeed.”

“I will stand by your objective scientific analysis of my bottom. After all, you have undertaken a great study of it. You have been very thorough.”

Although,” Spencer squeezed lube onto his fingers and started to rub Hotch's erection. “I think a study of your own is required, for my behind,” he moaned, as Hotch started to deliberately curl his fingers up to hit his prostate. “Yes,” he started to pant. “I think you'll find it very... enjoyable.”

Hotch removed his fingers and gripped Spencer's hips, unable to hold back his own moans, as his younger lover started to slowly lower himself onto his erection. For a moment, Spencer simply sat, accustoming himself, before he started to move, sliding up and down, slowly at first, before gaining momentum. Hotch watched the long neck drawn back, the full lips open, mouth gasping. His eyes were closed. Hotch never closed his eyes, when making love. He wanted to experience all of it, in particular, the sight of this exquisite creature who had somehow chosen him to be his life partner.

He leant forward and kissed the long neck, stroking his erection in time to the fast movements. Hotch could hear the frenzied slap slap of their bodies moving in rhythmic motion together, could feel not only the heat and tightness of being inside his lover, but soft, sweaty flesh of his thighs as he moved up and down.

'Oh oh ah ahah ah ah ah...” Spencer cried out, as Hotch groaned in reciprocation. Finally, Hotch could take no more.

“Oh Spencer! Spencer... oh oh....ah...” He thrust up, at the same time pulling down on Spencer's hips, moving deep inside his lover, as his orgasm hit, sending him high into the ecstasies of passion.

“Hotch!” Spencer cried out. Hotch felt his release hit his stomach, moments after he had released deep inside Spencer.

Both sat panting a moment, before Spencer grinned down at him, a pink hue on his cheeks.

“Well? Was it an enjoyable experience?”

“Hm... seeing as we already have such a fantastic sex life... how can we outdo ourselves on our wedding night?” Hotch said, tenderly removing himself.

“We could go without sex, from now until the wedding?”

“That is possibly the worst idea I have ever heard! And they say you're a genius!” Hotch said, dryly.

Spencer laughed.

“How about we have a shower together? Then get something to eat? All of that great sex has made me hungry.”

“Mmm... ok...” Hotch lazily kissed his lips.

*  
The waiter looked to be impressed by Spencer's Italian ordering. However, when he started to speak back, in fast Italian, Spencer laughed.

“Sorry, didn't understand that!”

The waiter shook his head and laughed a little, himself. “I'll come back with the wine.”

Hearing his mobile go off, Hotch answered it. “Jack! How are you?”

“Having a great time, dad! It's just fantastic here. Can you put Spencer on? I wanted to tell him about the Nobel Institute that we visited today.”

Hotch shook his head. He finally got to speak to his son, after feeling mild anxiety for weeks, and he instantly wanted to talk to Spencer.

_Sounds about right._

He handed the phone over.

“Hi Jack!” Spencer began. Hotch watched the emotion dance over his eyes, as he spoke. “Really? Sounds great! Oh I'd love to go there! Sure, I'll put Hotch back on.”

“So, did you ask him?” Jack asked, as soon as Hotch grabbed the mobile off Spencer and placed it to his ear.

Hotch caught Spencer's eye and grinned. “He said 'yes'.”

“Oh awesome, dad! That's great! Oh listen gotta go.”

“Love you, Jack.”

“Love you dad,” Jack said, then the line went dead.

“Jack was the first person I brought the idea up to. If he had said that he was uncomfortable with the idea, I would have just dropped it,” Hotch said, as he placed the mobile into his pocket.

“I understand,” from Spencer’s eyes, he could see that he truly did. “You know, I honestly did like Hailey. I would never want Jack to think that I was trying to replace her.”

“Jack knows that no one would ever replace his mum. But he told me that you come a pretty close second.”

A truly beautiful smile lit up Spencer's entire face. At that moment, the waiter returned with the wine bottle. For a moment, he gave Spencer a look that Hotch was familiar with, particularly when it came to his gorgeous boyfriend; pure unadulterated lust. Then he turned to Hotch and displayed the bottle to him, before pouring a little bit. Hotch tasted it, then nodded, eager for the waiter to leave. The waiter poured the wine into the two glasses and thankfully moved away from their table.

“The waiter likes you,” Hotch said.

“Does he?” As usual, Spencer did not notice the person clearly making googly eyes at him. “He didn't have massive biceps, or drive a motorcycle, so...”

“All the better for me. I'm just glad I don't have to fight every person who finds you attractive. It would be exhausting. But at least I'd build up my muscles.” He looked at the much loved face, the way the soft candlelight played across the delicate features. “Thank you for saying yes.”

“That's part of the reason why you were acting so jittery, the last few days. I realise that now. And all of those conversations about marriage, of late...I don't despise it. Not at all. In fact, I think, in the knowledge of all that I think is wrong about the institute of marriage, we can come up with a wedding that highlights only the positives.”

“I think that's a good idea.”

Spencer didn't say anything a moment, although Hotch could see his brain working, behind the dark orbs of his eyes.

“Throughout my life, in work and my private life, I have been aware of a lot of relationships where there is an immense imbalance of power. One person is more in control. But I don't see that, with us. It feels very balanced.”

“I agree. I think that's why it works so well. Of course, we're in love. But underneath it all, is this base understanding between us. Just promise me something, Spencer. Promise me we'll never stop communicating together, talking through any problems that we have. Because that is what makes us strong.”

In that instant, the waiter returned, with the meals. Hotch realised that they had barely touched their wines. Spencer waited until the waiter had left, then reached forward and took Hotch's hand.

“I promise.”

Hotch could see, from his eyes that he meant it.

*

Spencer still lay gasping beneath him, as a thoroughly sated Hotch slowly pulled out, lifting his lover's leg and kissing the side of his knee and ankle, before collapsing back down against him, feeling the unnatural heat of his body. Spencer lifted his legs and hooked them around his waist, once more, grabbing Hotch's jaw and pulling him in for a long, sating kiss. Hotch then rested his head gently on Spencer's upper chest, feeling his lover's hand run through his hair.

“I could just lie here like this forever...” Spencer sighed.

“That's alright. I'll just tell people that you're my conjoined twin,” Hotch said, earning a giggle from Spencer. He then grabbed his left hand and started kissing the knuckles one by one.

“The gold goes with your eyes,” Hotch said, still holding the hand.

“I'll have to get one for you. You went with Rossi, didn't you?”

“Well, the man does have great taste.”

“Well, then I'll go with Morgan. I happen to think he'll have excellent ideas for rings.”

“Whatever you think is best, beautiful.”

Spencer was silent, a moment.

“At work, you can be pretty strict. Ordering us about here and there. I know. You have to be. It's the job. Don't get me wrong, you're also very fair with us. And treat everyone with great respect, valuing their input. But, with me, you're always so easy going. You've never tried to control me, or be strict with me in any way.”

He rose up, to look down into Spencer's face.“Your mind is your own, Spencer. Your body is your own. You make your own decisions. I love _you_. A fully automated human being. I've told you before. I love everything about you. You're incredibly complex. I haven't even begun to unravel all of your layers. I love the idea of finding out more about you. But one thing I do know, is that there is a pureness, at your core. It's always there, even when you're angry or in pain or frustrated. Look, I know people will talk a lot about your genius. And I go on about your beauty. Because you honestly _stun_ me. But you're so much more.”

“No one's ever said that to me. Well, maybe mum. Maybe not the stuff about me being beautiful,” Spencer said, tears starting to run down his face. “Look at that, crying again. What's wrong with me? Well, I did have a bit of alcohol tonight. Maybe I'm in the emotional stage of drunkenness.”

“I don't know. You tell me. What are you feeling?”

“Like I'm in a psychiatric office,” Spencer smiled through his tears. “I guess I'm overwhelmingly happy. Does that make sense?”

Hotch smiled. “Yes, it does.”

“And are you... are you happy? Because I want you to be happy. For so long, Foyett tormented your life. Your stronger than him. Your the strongest person that I know.”

“I've made the conscious choice to no longer be a victim of him. He raped me, yes. And it was... it was beyond horrible. There are no words... But, I chose to survive, to actively take steps to move past it. For me. And for Jack. For you. I made the choice, yes. But you're the one that finally made me realise that I had the choice to make. So, in answer to your question. Yes, I am very happy. We'll go back to the U.S, back to the BAU and we'll deal with the most horrific of crimes. And I'll still come home and I'll start to feel happy. Because of Jack. And you. My beautiful boy and my beautiful man.”

“I do think working together helps. At the end of the working day, knowing what we had to deal with, when it comes to the cases we pursue. Knowing we can talk each other through it. Helps us to stay focused at work, too, in a strange way.” A sudden vulnerability overcame the delicate face. “Thank you for being patient with me. I know to begin with, I wasn't exactly grade-A boyfriend material. I realise that I was so used to being lonely and feeling unwanted and used by other people, that I was actually terrified at the thought of you actually truly wanting me and treating me with respect. Human psychology is pretty twisted.” Spencer shook his head.

“You’re more than welcome,” Hotch bent down to kiss his lips. “Thank you for being patient with me, too.”

“I love you, Hotch. I love saying it. I love being able to say it. I'm going to say it every day for the rest of our lives,” his eyes, always the harbinger of his true truth, echoed that love, magnified it a thousand-fold.

Hotch felt too overwhelmed to reply. He felt his own eyes sting with tears.

“I...”

“I know. You love me too?” A slight, impish grin curled up his lips.

The tears now ran down his own cheeks. “So much, beautiful. So much.”

He collapsed back against Spencer, wrapping his arms around his back, feeing Spencer's own arms slip under, around his own back, his legs still around Hotch's waist, their torsos touching. Soon, they would make love once more. Then they would sleep, and wake up to explore more of the Italian city. Hotch was already planning to ask Spencer if he wanted to hire a car, to explore the Tuscany area, in the next few days. He already had some ideas as to potential wedding venues, and was keen to hear any suggestions from Spencer. He was keen to hear Spencer laugh, to hear his caustic dry wit, his always enthused views on all manner of subject. He was keen to be readily stunned by the beauty of the mobile face, he always expressive eyes.

But, for now, he was content to simply lie, holding the man that he loved to him.

Yes, he did feel very happy indeed.

Finis.


End file.
